Broken Glass
by GenericOregairuFan
Summary: Hayama Hayato is dead. Suicide, at Miura Yumiko's birthday party. Or at least, that's the police verdict: Hachiman has never been one to accept things at face value...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: _Hayama_** _ **Hayato is dead. Suicide, during Miura Yumiko's birthday party. Hachiman however, a reluctant guest that night, is not convinced by the police verdict. He witnessed something that night, but when everyone has something to hide, can he really trust anyone but himself?**_

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter One:**

 _People have many fears. Fear of spiders, or loneliness, or enclosed spaces, or open spaces, or anything under the sun. Fear is like tendrils of glistening moonlight, reaching down from a reflected heaven and splashing onto us all, no matter the totality of the shadow we hide ourselves in. And, the oldest fear of them all is very probably that of death._

 _Fear is a helpful emotion- a necessary one even, that motivates us through hardships, though the nature of the nowaday hardships will be very different to those of the monkeys that fear first blossomed for. Necessary does not extend to rational though, so its probably fitting that the most rampant fear of them all is the least rational. Fear should compel to escape, but what is the hope in escaping something that grows with the fervour and constancy of death. It occures every day. Every second, even._

 _Eventually, there will come a day or a second for me too. And yet still, I fear it. Without willingness, and without any hope of escaping from its clutches._

 _Certainly, that fear has increased as of late. I cannot deny that. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I suppose, in some stange and twisted way, that old idiom is applicable here. I had never really had any contact with death, and so I always considered it in a more flattering light. The death of a grandmother at a young age, yes, and the reports of some repugnant killing on the news, yes, but these are mere glances. The brush of a shoulder between pedestrians as they walk down the street._

 _A pedestrian will only be a short distance away from a car crash, however. It's incredibly easy to forget how hauntingly that collision looms over us all._

 _The realisation_

* * *

Hachiman stares at the notebook, reading over the words, again and again and again.

It is ten minutes past five on a late autumn afternoon, somewhere in the month of August. Time has an irritating habit of slipping through a person's fingers, especially when the monotony of, say, a school routine sets in. Hachiman knows that particular form of monotony as if it were an old childhood friend he liked dearly, but one that is now beginning to grate on his nerves. Not that he could claim to have much experience on the matter of friendship.

Nonetheless, Hachiman prides himself in being observant. He can pick out, or perhaps just acknowledge, a person's good qualities, even if they are solitary waves on a raging ocean of bad. Sometimes, the waves will be closer to ripples, barely noticeable, but still, he might catch a glimpse when the sunlight splashes on a calm tide just right. So, there are times when a routine might not be monotonous. If one fills it with the right components, that is.

A fulfilling student might fill it with lunchtimes with their friends, or perhaps save such interactions for after school and spend their lunchtimes being studious or reading in the library. An after school club might be appropriate. Hachiman actually meets this idyllic requirement, though if he were to use two adjectives to describe the Service Club, they definitely wouldn't be idyllic or fulfilling. But a little more so than the other components in the machine of his school life, nonetheless.

He has wondered whether he and Yuigahama Yui and Yukinoshita Yukino are friends too frequently to keep track. Even if they aren't, both are attractive enough to make the commitment, albeit enforced, worth his while.

And so he, and the two girls who tolerate them, and the rest of Class 2F, and the rest of Sobu High on top them, had lived out their little fantasies, uncaring and mindless, like a shoal of fish. One entity, singularly breathing and singularly never thinking. Singularly never noticing the stirring of water beneath them as the body of a shark moved closer and closer.

And then, what that shark drew near enough to steal a bite, and rip flesh from bones and stain the water red, they had the nerve to act surprised.

Hachiman shakes his head and closes the notebook. He presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

Why has Yukinoshita Yukino penned this? Often, while he and his clubmates are sat with their herbal tea and reading on and speaking nothings, she will take out the notebook and write something down. He had assumed that, today, it would be another of the nothings, though clearly, Yukinoshita Yukino was dissatisfied with their awkwardness and decided to use the time to write down her true feelings.

He can see, hear, feel her voice in the words. Her feelings, for once unrestrained by the paltry ugliness of their usual conversation.

Of course he knows what they are about. It is clinging to Sobu High like a clump of mistletoe to an aging tree, and will continue clinging there, very probably growing, for a long time. It started growing two weeks ago. Two weeks, since it happened.

Hikigaya Hachiman had never once liked Hayama Hayato. Not even in the slightest. True, his typical, or rather atypical prejudices prevent him from liking anyone of the "riajuu" status (whatever that means), but there was something even more disagreeable about Hayato, something even more irritating, that sometimes he couldn't quite identify. Something in that confident charisma, that persuasive conviction, those punchably immaculate features.

They had their disagreements, some more on a moral level than a practical one. Hayato believed in the routine that Hachiman would change, or at least would aspire to change. Words and actions are far too often like distant lovers, trapped on opposite sides of some insurmountable divide.

When Hachiman was told that Hayato was dead, he wasn't happy or sad or lost or confused. He was just surprised.

He was told by Hiratsuka-sensei when he arrived on Monday morning, two weeks ago. The homeroom had been deathly silent, no one crying, no one talking, every one of them thinking of some impossibility or some change, or feeling some vague, disjointed hope that the news might just go away.

In the Yumiko's spare bedroom, on the night of their daughter's birthday, after all those lucky enough to be invited had left. That was where he'd been discovered, and by the birthday girl herself. Some birthday.

Like that, the routine was broken, so easily, as if it had never once existed in the first place. There and then gone, like condensation resting on a window pane, or the brown singed leaves spattering the Sobu High courtyard that you could see from the Service Club room. It only took a day or two for that unnerving, terrifying silence to lift and be replaced by a rush of tears from a dozen eyes in the school corridor, many of them belonging to people who'd only known _of_ him. In some ways, it was almost relieving. Hachiman realised quickly that, when in a terrible crisis, you could always rely on people to strive for the limelight.

Strangely enough, those who undoubtedly suffered the most seemed far more proficient at hiding it. Miura Yumiko, who came into school with her make up pristine, and her clothes as stylish and fashionable as the year and a half before, and her eyes deadened with sleepless nights and a bloodied image no one should ever be subjected to. His friends, who brooded in a hushed quiet, that would only be broken by the slightest of whispers. Yuigahama, who couldn't bring herself to speak at the Service Club, or Tobe, whose jokes seemed to have abandoned him.

This is the eleventh meeting of the Service Club since it happened. Hachiman knows this clearly- he has counted, and not just the hours themselves, but the minutes within them and the seconds within them. Each has brought, or rather enforced, its own personalised brand of silence, cold and unforgiving as a gravestone, and its own erray of barely withheld agonies. Time, instead of slipping through the crannies of their fingers in these hours, appears to be trapped within them. They were all there that night, and though they cannot think of anything else, they could never possibly find the right order, the right combination of words, and neither would they want to.

For the first time, Hachiman has found himself relating to Hayama Hayato. One can only truly hate a routine until it chooses to abandon you.

Only a day ago has the talk of a funeral begun to filter through the twisting blocks of students in the Sobu High corridor. For once, this talk, occupying everyone's attention without a morsel of effort, is not gossip, but more like the relaying of an armistice at the end of a blood soaked war that no one has won. They were tired murmurs, close to broken ones, that followed the news that the police had started and carried out and finshed an enquiry in the course of seven days. Blink, and you would've missed it.

Hachiman himself had been called to make a statement, just after six o'clock in the evening. The officer who questioned him was an aging man with a bored and colourless face. He recounted the night that had signed, sealed and delivered him nightmares, and his response was an expectant nod, the vague scratch of a pen on a notebook, and the affirmation that his words were in accordance with the rest of those at the party. Just as Hachiman left the equally colourless room to see his family waiting, the officer told him one thing.

"Dreadful thing, a suicide that young," he'd said, without much sincerity. "I'm sorry you've lost a friend."

Hachiman half wished he'd responded then, instead of only nodding tiredly. It was as if the officer had opened and closed a door that hid something Hachiman could only guess at, and yet this something was of such indiscernible consequence, such excessive significance, that he could hardly bare for it to remain locked.

Hayama Hayato was adored by almost all who knew him. He was captain of the soccer team. He was top in many of his subjects. He had a life awaiting that glistened with an already near fulfilled potential. Then, as if propelled by a lost instinct known but unknown to us all, he opened his wrists and pierced his heart with a piece of shattered glass, and dropped dead to the floor in the spare bedroom of one of his best friends.

Why? Why would he even _want_ to?

The question had been on the teetering edge of everyone at Sobu High's lips, including Hachiman's own. Yet the answer, which he thought he might know, was somehow more of a burden than the question itself.

He bit his tongue. He shouldn't be looking at this. These were Yukino's most personal, reveaing thoughts, laid bare to him with a terrible clarity. The Service Club meeting was over. Yuigahama Yui had already gone home. Yukinoshita Yukino would be returning to collect her school bag imminently after giving Hiratsuka-sensei the key. And here he was, perusing her insecurities after lingering behind for them like some crazed, obsessive lover.

Five seconds later, he had ripped out the page from the notebook and was walking away from the clubroom.

On either side of the gates to Sobu High is a curving line of bushes, encroaching on the school like a row of green infantry. Once he'd passed their circumference line he pressed his back against the cold metal and sighhed. Her thoughts on the paper were already lightly crumpled against his soiling fingers.

Hachiman is not arrogant, but neither is he the kind of person to shield his natural abilities beneath a cloak of indulgent modesty. He is naturally able, and will study accordingly, and his mind, like most of those who are naturally able, is constantly assessing and judging and speculating on the people around him. Yukinoshita Yukino has reserved more of his speculations than most. Speculations on her family, on her philosophies, on her lies. Though it may make him a little uncomfortable, he'd much prefer to waste time over her beauty than what he is wasting time over currently.

The stunning ineptitude of language occured to him once more. He has so many things to ask her. So many awful, inappropriate reservations to communicate to her. How would such a conversation even go?

 _"Yo, Yukinoshita. Nice day, isn't it? By the way, I'm pretty sure they were wrong about Hayama-kun. I mean, why would a guy like that wanna kill himself, am I right?"_

Trying desperately not to crush the stolen paper ensnared in his palm, Hachiman continued his way back home, retracing the steps of his feet made a thousand times previously.

 _"I think we can all agree that party was pretty weird. We all said some shit we didn't mean. Most of us were drunk; some for the first time, I could tell. But me? I wasn't drunk, Yukinoshita."_

Suddenly, he felt nausea, surging up from his stomach and up to his throat.

 _"I saw some pretty weird shit, as well. Much more than anyone else. Not even you were entirely sober, little Miss Perfect. But you know who the only other person who was sober was? He's no longer with us, if that's any indication."_

He swallowed it down before it could emerge, and for a moment, its rancid taste rested on his tongue. His footsteps continued, stabbing into the sidewalk like shards of glass.

"And considering everything that's happened, if anyone would want to murder him, it would probably be-"

Hachiman's thougts remained restless and intrusive until he arrived back home.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Couple of things before the chapter. First, I am aware Hachiman probably wouldn't address characters by their first name even in his imagination in canonical circumstances, but this story is hardly canonical. In a situation such as this I feel like he wouldn't care when writing so I hope you can grant me that liberty here, although when speaking he will still of course use the formal honorifics.**

 **Second, thx very much for your responses to the first chapter. I really appreciate the feedback, so plz do keep reading and reviewing regardless of whether it be positive or negative or not.**

 **Third, about whether there will be romance in the story: there may be hints at romantic affections but predominantly (more like solely really) the focus will be on the murder mystery element.**

 **EDIT: Made a few minor errors in this chapter that have annoyed me. 1. I stupidly miscounted the amount of suspects (ughgghh), so just to clarify there were ten people at the party including Hachiman and Hayato. 2. Didn't specify when Ebina arrived for some reason, but just so everyone's aware she too arrived with Yui BEFORE the party began. Soz if anyone was misled by this.**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter Two:**

If a person's bedroom served as an accurate display of their mental state, than Hikigaya Hachiman should probably have been incarcerated in a mental asylum by now. It has always resembled much more closely a painting of the coming catacyclsm, or at least some form of dystopic wasteland, than a place appropriate for someone to live and sleep. Piles of clothes a foot high, volumes of manga and light novels fallen from their shelf like faulty kites, discarded notebooks and revision guides from years passed.

Though this is no change for the teenager, and if anything happens to be something of a comfort, it brings a groan as he steps through the door. It is noticeably worse off than usual. His parent's absence means that he will be the one who tidies (if at all), and every object within has remained untouched, save for the bed covers, for two weeks.

If he were to drop the piece of paper in his hand, it would fall gently to the floor and mostly likely be lost amongst the dozens of those identical to it. But this is not a half assed attempt at a shonen illustration, or a reminder for school. This time, he heads straight over to his desk, sits down and reads it through again.

He reads it again.

Once more.

Hachiman can't help but hope that if only he looked at the words long and hard enough they would reveal to him some new found meaning, some colossal enlightenment, that would undo the tangles in his mind that have appeared as of late. This is ridiculous, of course. They signify nothing in particular. They are just a random stream of consciousness from a distressed teenager.

He does notice one thing though. It may be just his mind playing tricks on him, searching for an inference that doesn't really exist, but...

At the end, when the writing cuts off, there is the slightest scrawl of a pen. It seems that she wanted to write more. He recalls watching Yukinoshita Yukino as she had begun and finished the frantic, swirling action of her pen in the clubroom. At the end, had it not seemed as if she wanted to finished her sentence?

 _The realisation..._

The realisation of what? That you were capable of so much more than you previously imagined? That Yukinoshita Yukino can, in fact, lie?

He will probably never know. But it will not stop Hachiman's mind from wondering.

He leans back, away from the paper, blinking in the fading natural light of the orange sunset that streams in through his window. He is especially glad at the absence of anyone else in the Hikigaya household tonight. Komachi is participating in a revision club at the house of one of her friends.

In the first week, he relied on her far too much.

There is a large pad of A4 paper wedged between the books on the desk. Hachiman has been staring at it, contemplating using it for a purpose that he can never quite force himself to define, for several days now. That definition will, inevitably, never arrive, but Yukinoshita's thoughts have also inevitably spurred some of his own.

Suddenly, the pad is open to the first page, and a biro is being lowered to it.

"Write..." he mutters unassuredly.

What about?

The pen touches the paper.

* * *

 _Hikigaya Hachiman. Yukinoshita Yukino. Yuigahama Yui. Miura Yumiko. Ebina Hina. Kawasaki Saki. Kakeru Tobe. Tanawa Ooka. Yashatori Yamato. Hayama Hayato. Ten people arrived at the party, but only nine people left it._

 _I think that_

 _I know_

 _In the month building up to it, the stupid fucking party was literally the only thing that came out of anybody's mouth. The birthday of the Queen of the Riajuu- there's not gonna be a bigger event in the school calendar than that. I remember people saying they wanted to be invited, and then I remember people saying that it was only going to be for her closest friends, and I heard people saying that Miura and Hayama were going to get together there and a whole lot of other stuff I can't be bothered to write about._

 _I think that Miura was excited about it. Not her usual, fake, ugly kind of exicted. A kind of genuine excitement that at one point I think I called 'infectious' in my head._

 _We didn't talk about it at the Service Club though. Me and Yukinoshita didn't, I mean. Occasionally, Yuigahama would babble something, but that's no change, and mostly it was just the same old same old same old fucking Service Club._

 _I really wish I'd paid more attention to rumours. Some of them might've been_

 _No. That's wrong. Some of them might've been_ based _on truth, I suppose. They might've had or told me something._

 _Told me what? Who the fucks knows_

 _The only other rumour I heard about was the usual one. The response to that of Miura and Hayama getting together. For every Fire Queen there has to be an Ice Queen, I guess. Sagami was whittering on in homeroom at one point that Yukinoshita was planning to gatecrash and take Hayama for whatever monumentally nonsensical reason. At that point, I thought the party would just happen and then we'd be done with it._

 _Then, Miura came to the clubroom. It would've been just under a week before the day of the party. She waltzed straight in with blonde hair set aflame by however many hundred hair products and her eyes pronounced by blueish mascara; she looked without a shadow of a doubt the confident girl I presumed to know. Her voice, however, was off. I remember thinking so at the time and then again afterwards. Not unsure but oh I don't fucking know, wary? Too controlled?_

 _She said that she wanted to thank the Service Club for everything they'd done for the people in Class 2F over the past year and a half. Yuigahama was already invited, but she extended that invitation to the club president and I. She said she hoped we could be friends._

 _What a load of fucking crap. Yukinoshita thought so to. We asked Yuigahama about the real reason, but she said she hadn't a clue, and that Miura hadn't even told her she was planning on inviting the whole club._

 _I don't know if that was a lie or not. I honestly don't know. Yuigahama, as I've learnt in my time at the Service Club, is nowhere the near the picture perfect nice girl of my first year self's naive imagination._

 _I want to believe she would tell me the truth. Just like with Yukinoshita. Just like how I want to believe Hayato hadn't been murdered._

 _Murdered. Murdered murdered murdered murdered murdered_

 _What would it take to kill someone? Courage? Ruthlessness? Complete fucking psychopathy? To be honest, I can't imagine it taking any of them. I think that all it would require is emotion- not like those autistic detective shows would have you believe. People in general, in fact, would have you believe that only someone truly evil is capable of murder, but this is just a defense mechanism. A means of denying the far more frightening, no no not just frightening more like fucking horrifying truth._

 _I think that I, or Yukinoshita, or Yuigahama or Miura or Tobe or anyone at that party, even Hayato, could have lifted that shard of glass and turned it from murky green to scarlet, if only they had the anger or the obsession or the sadness or the guilt or the love._

 _Which emotion was it that spurred on Hayato's murderer?_

 _I know it was murder. I know it may sound strange and unfounded, but I'm beyond certain. There is not even the slightest hint of doubt in my mind._

* * *

Hachiman drops his pen for a moment. His hand is trembling.

Finally, he has admitted it to himself. His purpose. His certainty, that came to him the moment he was told that Hayama Hayato had committed suicide. That instinct, reaching through the tears of the Sobu High students, through the pen scratches of the police officer that dismissed his suspicions without even knowing it, and calling to him with a shrill, dissonant screech that demands he stand up and assert himself.

A screech that demands he assert the _truth._

And in this instance, the truth required that he continue writing. And not just the first, disconnected strands of thought that emerged in his mind's eye. He needs to organise them.

* * *

 _The attendees of Miura Yumiko's party arrived in separate, distinct groups. Yuigahama, being Miura's closest friend (in that moment at least), had arrived at the house for the earliest celebrations and to help with the process of setting up. Miura's parents had, rather indulgently, promised that they would be absent for the party itself, as the actual date of the birthday had been the Thursday, not the Saturday, and presumably they'd already celebrated accordingly._

 _The first group to arrive, as I understand it, was Hayama and his group of sycophantic wingmen- Kakeru Tobe,_ _Tanawa Ooka, Yashatori Yamato. I cannot attest to when exactly they arrived, but I can certainly estimate: when I asked her for the sake of formality how long the guests had been present upon entering the house, Miura told me that they'd been there for 'awhile'. Not exactly useful in itself, but considering I left my house at around 7:30 PM and, after walking, probably arrived at 7:45, their own arrival was probably between 6:PM and 7:PM._

 _This means that Kawasaki Saki and I would've been the second to get there. We met each other while approaching Miura's house from a couple of blocks away and finished the journey together. Our interaction was as breathtakingly awkward as our interactions tend to be- pauses and nothing and pauses and nothing. Speaking is the exception in most of my 'conversations'._

 _I am, however, thankful that I decided on a whim to ask her how she'd been invited, considering the animosity between her and the Fire Queen. Her reply was a simple, two word one: Hina Ebina. At one point, I also recall her asking me if I'd ever drunk alcohol before. Properly- not a glass that your parents hand over at a dinner party like biscuits to a dog. I told her the truth, that being no, and she said she was glad that she wouldn't be the only one._

 _Therefore, when we knocked on Miura's door (it was opened for us by Yamato), sunset was waning and darkness was already drawing further and further up her driveway. And the last one to knock on that door would've been Yukinoshita Yukino herself. The only one that did so alone, always always always always alone, the Ice Queen, sat atop her solitary white throne, ruling over a kingdom of nothing in particular. Oh look at me getting fucking poetic jesus_

 _On the dot at 8 was the time her knuckle rapped on the door. I remember because I'd been there for fifteen minutes, then it got to 8 and I wondered where she was and then I had my answer, presenting itself primly in the doorway._

 _Kawasaki and I were surprised by the house. I always guessed Miura was rich, and though she is better off than most, that stills lands her decidedly in the middle class. The Hayamas would probaby not have their children associate with the Miura's if they had their way. Often, I'd suggest they do._

 _I'd draw a picture of the house, but what light would my atrocious drawing skils shed on all this mess? For once, words might be clearer. The drive is wide and is grounded by small yellow stones that crunch when you step on them, and the structure itself has two floors without an attic or basement. The porch is made of stone slabs and has unusually stark porchlights on either side._

 _Inside, the hallway is quite narrow, but the lower floor is open plan with two main rooms comprising it in its entirety. The front room is on the right, with the large TV and the speakers and the wooden table, and the much smaller sitting room on the left with the sofa and the mantelpiece with the pictures of Miura's family on top. The sitting room curves on back towards the centre of the house and then you must open another wooden door to reveal the kitchen, which looks much more modern than the rest. At the far end (at least to the person entering) of the kitchen is the back door. The garden is sizeable but there aren't any lights to reveal this in the darkness. Some time in the night, when we were alone for the briefest of seconds, Tobe pointlessly made me aware of this, before going back into the sitting room._

 _Well at least I think pointlessly I mean who the fuck really knows, really. For all I know, Tobe is some hardened, stone cold expert in the art of killing with glass._

 _There are three bathrooms in the house, for whatever reason the architect decided. One directly adjacent to the back door, in the kitchen, with a window looking out into the garden, and another underneath the staircase. You can see the latter directly in front of you in the hallway, and it essentially separates the sitting room from the front room. The final one is upstairs, on the right. There are two doors to the right when you get to the top of the stairs. The bathroom, and the spare bedroom, where they found the body. On the left, there is Miura's and her parents' and siblings' bedrooms._

 _I can't really think of any other specific details, cause though that night has never once left my head in two weeks I was only there for four or five hours, so I will need to see the house aga_

* * *

Hachiman's phone rang from inside his pocket, its tone shrill and ugly, making him drop the pen.

He blinks, his heartbeat increasing. There are only a very select few people in his contact list, and an even more very select few that would, in reason, consider calling him. Komachi, of course, and the other members of the Hikigaya household. Kawasaki has his number but has never used it. Totsuka has it and has used it, as has the Service Club. The reluctant fist punching a void in his heart can guess quite easily who has called him.

When he removes the phone from his pocket and sees the name "Yukinoshita Yukino" flashing on the screen, it is not apprehension that prevents him from answering immediately. As soon as he ripped the paper from her notebook he knew she would realise, if not sooner rather than later. He knew that a phone call or a confrontation would come, as who else would Yukinoshita immediately suspect.

A part of him is almost glad, even for a confrontation. Even for the slightest or most distressing reprieve, or perhaps even for a _dangerous_ break from the abominable, repetitive denial. At least, when he answers the phone, he can lie knowing full well that he is changing something. Or trying to change something.

He presses accept and brings the phone to his ear.

 _"..."_

There is silence on her side of the line, save for her breathing. It is shallow and quick.

 _"... Yukinoshita?"_

 _"... Yes."_

Another pause.

 _"What is it?"_

 _"... I ... I do not wish to sound... I ... cannot..."_

 _"Yukinoshita?"_

 _"... I ... I believe that there is a page missing from my notebook. The page that I was writing on in today's Service Club meeting."_

 _"..."_

 _"I... was wondering if you might've seen it misplaced somewhere?"_

Or taken it? The unspoken words hang, no doubt, on the roof of her mouth. Urging her to release them. Cutting at her tongue like, say, a shard of glass.

 _"I don't even remember you writing. Sorry, I was busy reading."_

 _"..."_

 _"... Yukinoshita? You still ther-"_

 _"Yes. Yes I am, Hikigaya-kun."_

 _"Well I didn't see it."_

 _"... You're sure?"_

 _"Absolutely. Sorry I couldn't help you."_

 _"..."_

 _"... Yukinoshita?"_

 _"... Yes. I... I see."_

 _"... Anything else you wan-"_

 _"Thank you, Hikigaya-kun."_

The phone call died as Yukinoshita Yukino hung up.

He continued to stare at the phone screen long after she did so. Somehow, he could imagine that Yukinoshita Yukino, sat on her bed or her sofa in that lonely flat more expensive than a great many people's lives, was doing the same. Were her thoughts also the same? Was she cursing him? Was she panicking, or simply dismissive? Was the awkwardness the same, customary awkwardness of usual, or a different kind, full of tension and speculation, as it had been for him?

Hachiman put the phone down carefully in front of him, just in case it rang again, and then picked up the pen once more.

He looked at the names of those who'd attended the party, twisting and writhing in the ink like snakes at the bottom of a pit. Which of those snakes had venom in their fangs, he wondered?

* * *

 _I don't really know what to write. There are so many things I don't know, and might not be able to find out. A police department looked at this and closed the door. To be brutally honest, I can't help but think this doesn't matter in the slighest._

 _Over the two weeks, I have find myself walking through the rooms of that house time and time and time again. Sometimes, I am returned to the very moment, with that shitty pop music blaring and the hint of spilled alcohol in the air and around my feet, and the people around me as they were, more like china dolls in my mind than real people. Sometimes, I will retrace my previous steps. Sometimes, I will try to imagine new steps that might, somehow, lead me in a direction that would resolve everything nicely, with a bow tied on top._

 _I keep returning to Kawasaki's name though. Always her name, over and over. Even more than I have found myself returning to Yukinoshita Yukino's._

 _Yukinoshita is a hunch. Kawasaki is the name that I have to suspect on logic alone. What's more, she is the only one whose whereabouts I can account for, at least vaguely, for the entirety of the night. I know she was definitely upstairs, from 9:35 PM onwards._

 _She could be the closest I have to a witness, if Hayato was indeed killed upstairs. Or something more._

* * *

Hachiman put down the pen for the final time that night.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks once again for your kind words in reviews. I know every author says it but tbf its true- they really are the best motivation out there, so if you enjoy this chapter too plz do write what you thought.**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter Three:**

Homeroom has never been a favoured part of Hachiman's much-hated routine. If a school day is six hours long, as it is for him, then all six of those hours are chock full with a dreary lack of meaning or substance or importance. Homeroom, for a single half hour, quite possibly provides even more dreary lack of meaning or substance or importance than any other time of the day. But, he has found that it is an effective means of, in seconds, gauging the tensions of a class, of indetifying the friendships that link it and the cliques that separate it, which themselves establish clear boundaries that are rarely crossed.

Before two weeks ago, those boundaries would've been present even for the most socially blind of the class. Now they are _so_ present they may as well be walls, six foot high, blocking people from even speaking. At least the silence in the Service Club of late is one between individuals who could, in the right circumstance, label each other friends. In Class 2F, there are previous and current hatreds that oppress the air and choke words so that they shake uncomfortably on your tongue.

Hachiman is alone. He is, and probably always will be his own clique. The otaku sit tucked away in the corner. Sagami and her gaggle of friends, not quite of a popularity for the Fire Queen linger immediately to his right, and then Miura's clique itself, on the direct opposite side of the classroom to Hachiman.

All of them noticeably lacking in animation- occasionally, there will be a whisper, a gasp for air, before their heads are again submerged beneath the water's surface- but none more noticeably lacking than the Fire Queen's, whose designated king is nowhere to be found.

Hachiman's eyes follows them as the wings of conversation flutter, as if about to take flight, before once again being clipped. If ever chatter does begin it is usually on the efforts of Yuigahama Yui, and those efforts are ones he has seen brief glimpses of in the Service Club too, but here they seem more desperate, more full of terror. Terror that this stilted silence will follow them still even after yet another two weeks, and yet another two months, and yet another two years.

But Hachiman is already accustomed to it, and apparently, he is the only one who knows what it will take for that silence to leave. After finally collapsing under the weight of what has taken place, he had considered at length what exactly he is trying to achieve. And, more importantly, how he is to achieve it.

The greatest problem are the blanks. In what he'd seen, in what he can realistically remember, and whether others will be willing to part with _they_ can remember for someone other than the police. Hachiman doubts it. But, he knows _beyond_ doubt that he desperately needs them, for while there was a murderer and a murdered, there are also ten victims, and he himself was one of them.

He decided he would work through them, systematically, as if they were not humans but merely boxes on a sheet of paper, waiting for him to tick them off. When he has worked and determined and manipulated, and found the missing pieces that any of them could be with-holding... then, and only then, could things return to normal. A new and different kind of normal, and hopefully an infinitely more satisfying one, than the school days of before the party.

There is another apart from Hachiman who is sitting by herself. Kawasaki Saki, with her head resting on her arms, light blue hair spilling over them like melting crystals. She is trying to give the impression of sleep, but Hachiman has used a similar tactic in the past, and knows her eyes will be wide open against the dark of her blazer sleeve. Over the two weeks, he has glanced at her face in homeroom if the opportunity arose, and seen those eyes purple from lack of sleep and that hair messy and roaming free. Quite frankly, she looks to be in a worse state than someone who'd he once perceived as so proud, so independent, could ever reach. Far worse off than even Miura Yumiko.

He wonders if the visions plaguing _her_ in the small hours of the morning are any different, any more violent, than his own.

Hachiman is aware he cannot just approach her in the middle of homeroom. The social standings, though worn thin of late, are by no means brittle; especially for those like him. But him and Kawasaki are alike in this respect, and he already has a plan for when a conversation between them might be considered more appropriate-

"Hey, Saki."

The voice takes Hachiman by surprise, as it does several others in the classroom. It comes from Ebina Hina, who has stood up and abandoned her place amongst Miura's clique and made her way over to Kawasaki. The expression of intimacy, using her first name, is not lost on Hachiman, and neither is it lost on Kawasaki. She has lifted her head, and the illusion of sleep is broken.

"Tired, huh?" the girl continues, pushing her glasses up her nose, face cheery.

Hachiman glances towards Miura, Hayato's friends and her own. They look a little taken back. The blonde haired girl, whose eyes have finally lifted from her phone screen, and Yuigahama, whose own have widened. It is not abnormal for Ebina, being closer to Kawasaki than anyone else, to strike up a conversation, but neither is it too commonpace for Hachiman to ignore it.

Kawasaki opens her mouth, stumbles, and then begins again. With the help of the light, he again notices her sleeplessness, of a shade more intense than he'd initially presumed.

"I... I guess so," comes her response.

"I kinda had to stay up late too, for the English homework. It was way harder than usual."

"Y- yh. For the English homework."

Ebina presses on through the swathes of discomfort, thick enough to cut through like rose thickets. "Well, I mean, do you wanna come over and sit with us? I've said it, like, every day, but you're more than welcome-"

"I don't think that's a good idea, Hina."

Ebina turns back to look at Miura, more miffed than she lets on.

"Why not? Saki's my friend," she replies.

Miura purses her lips, but before she can open her mouth, Ebina refocuses on Yui.

"She's your friend too, right Yuigahama?"

Yuigahama fiddles with her fingers. She looks to Ebina, to Miura, and then finally to Kawasaki, for longer than the other two. The blue haired girl, after a moment, returns her head to her arms.

"Well yes, but... ah... Miu-"

"Tobe?" Ebina says, sharper.

"W- whoa guys! I mean, like, none of this was me."

"Ooka? Yamato?"

Both of them look lost, and then, faster than they'd emerged, shrink down into their chairs as if they were trapdoors.

"Come on, Hina. I wanna ask you about that English stuff myself," Miura cuts back in, returning to her phone screen with an air of finality Hachiman can scarcely comprehend.

Ebina Hina stands there, all too on her own and all too quiet for a heartbeat longer, before muttering something to Kawasaki and moving back to her chair. Her eyes are downcast. Kawasaki gives no sign of hearing her.

Hachiman's hand twitches on his knee underneath the table. The curious, and perhaps the more morbid part of him, wishes that the instance might come back and explain itself to him a little clearer. It was tense, tense enough for the whole class to pay it their attention (if fleetingly), but has there been a moment in homeroom since that _wasn't_ tense?

Even so... he is uncomfortably aware of the wave of chilling cold, exploding down his spine. There was subtext in those words and those glances- or at least that part of him once again _urges_ that there is- but a subtext far too estranged, for too exact, for him to catch.

Not too exact, however, for him to miss. Miura's clique could be guaranteed of that.

* * *

Hachiman, partly through his experiences with the Service Club, has become much more conscious of just how easy it is to exploit people. Even now, he is not entirely certain how he feels about this epiphany. On the one hand it is frightening; that thought of sonder, that true seeing of the people around you, and the knowledge that all of them have their own colours and frailties. That they are not just cardboard cutouts. The burden that they are just as endlessly human as you, and that therefore, they can be just as endlessly manipulated.

If he was to manipulate someone (he cannot bare to think of the word _use),_ then he would much prefer it if he had no thought, or at least no empathy. Considering one as an equal is encouraged, but this good quality, in itself, _dis_ courages the ruthlessness one often needs to actually achieve. What business man treats his rivals as equals? What politician, seeking votes, treats a populace as anything other than sheep? What use is mercy in life and death?

In spite of all of this, Hachiman finds himself opening the door to the roof of the school and stepping out, knowing full well that Kawasaki will be there. She always choses this place for lunchtimes. Patterns are even easier to exploit than humans themselves.

She does not look up at first. He closes and opens the door with care so as to not disturb her immediately. He already has circles, routes of speech outlined in his mind, what to say if she should try to excuse herself before he obtains what he needs, how to comfort her if she is unwilling, how to make himself seem trustworthy when everyone knows he is not.

It's an odd feeling watching someone while knowing they cannot, in return, watch you. Somewhere towards the territory of guilt and yet spurned in a no man's land of... control. It's as if, in the moment that they constrained within your sight and your sight only, they are only _yours,_ and yours alone, not a human at all, but a carving of ice or stone or a portrait or a piece of expensive jewellery. Something you can possess forever and always.

All of sudden, Hachiman is unsettled by the thoughts he's having. He shivers in the breeze, wondering where on earth they came from.

Perhaps it's just because it's Kawasaki- a girl who, like several others who he's somehow become acquianted with, is very attractive, and with her arms resting on the concrete side of the rooftop, he can see all the curves of her frame, and the way her currently unruly hair sways in the wind.

He shivers once more, and then begins walking towards her.

She still doesn't hear him, even as he comes within five or so metres from her. Hachiman made no attempt to dampen the sound of his footsteps on the concrete, so he assumes that she is simply distracted by the view from the rooftop. Or else pretending, hoping, he might just go away.

"Yo," he says calmly.

She says nothing.

"I thought you might be up here," Hachiman continues. "Not much reason to break routine, I suppose."

She sighs audibly, and finally turns to face him, though her gaze remains anywhere but on his face.

"What do you want, Hikigaya-kun?" she mumbles.

"It's not really a question of what _I_ want.'"

Her gaze becomes questioning, but once more, nothing.

"I'm here because of a Service Club request."

"... About what?"

"About _you._ Why else do you think I'm here?"

"Cause you're some creepy pervert? I dunno." At this, she again turns her back on him.

However fleetingly, Hachiman is glad to catch a glimpse of the Kawasaki Saki he knew before the party.

"Although literally everyone seems to think I'm some kind of sexual deviant, no. That is not why I'm here."

"Well spit it out the-"

"Our client has requested that I ask you if you're..." He hesitates, as if searching for the correct phrasing, "... If you're... if you need any help?"

More and more nothing.

The Service Club request Hachiman is speaking of is completely fabricated. Simply approaching her without some vaguely plausible pretence would give Kawasaki, in exchange, valid reason to brush him off. She could still brush him off even _with_ the pretence, but every request for the Service Club has to, of course, come from a specific individual. Hachiman predicts she would suspect someone close to her. It is, unsurprisingly, much harder to be dismissive when emotions come into play.

He'd planned to imply, while insisting his client desired anonymity, that the one responsible was Taishi. But, considering the events in homeroom...

"What do you mean? Alright?"

"Sh- they're, concerned about you." The manufactured fumble, Hachiman hopes, sounded real enough.

Kawasaki swiftly faces him, eyelids narrowing, and he fears for a moment that she has seen through him.

"Well you can tell Ebina-san that, despite what she thinks, I can take care of myself."

He doesn't show it, keeping his emotion blank, but inside relief sweats through his veins.

"Then you should tell her that yourself. You are friends, right?"

"... No. I don't need to talk to her about it, and I don't want to. She's already talking to you, it seems."

Good. At least in theory, he's ensured that Kawasaki won't confront Ebina about the Service Club request she didn't actually make.

"Kawasaki-san... I... I don't think there's much point in denying a problem's existence. Especially if it's staring you in the face-"

"You're saying that I have a _probl_ -"

"All I'm saying is that you have people who are concerned about you. Not just Eb... my client. Not just your family, or your friends." He pauses, allowing the words to settle. "Even someone like me would be concerned."

She huffs.

He steals a couple of steps closer to her. "It make seem like an awful cliche but... well, cliches are pretty often based on truth, right? And it's definitely true that there's no harm in asking for hel-"

"Asking for help about _what,_ Hachiman?"

Suddenly, she is meeting his gaze. Full on, unafraid. Suddenly, her pupils are ignited with a fire of anger, a fire fuelled by something beyond anger, something desperate and lonely and terrified. Like a rabbit running from a blaze.

But Hachiman, steeling himself, knows that he can't be afraid of Kawasaki. There are much worse things in the world than a teenage girl's anger.

Or, then again... perhaps Hayama could testify that there isn't.

"Well..." Another pause. Another calm and yet anxious blink. "I don't think there's much point in denying that something's happened, either. It happened to all of us, Kawasaki. Not just to you, or Ebina, or Miura... and... we should all be able to talk about it."

All of a sudden, the hint of fire is doused, and instead, all is left is the desperation. Hachiman smells it, senses it, and he closes the distance between them even further.

"I was there too, Kawasaki-san. Even if we... may not be as close as others... I'd be willing to listen."

He hopes that his gaze is calming, and not incendiary. He hopes that, in meeting Kawasaki's gaze likes this and closing the distance, he is not intimidating her or encouraging her to run. He desperately needs the information she could, _could,_ give him. More so than anyone else.

She opens her mouth. Her bottom is trembling. Then, it closes again.

"Hachiman..."

He was not expecting it. Kawasaki has never used his first name before, and he never anticipated that she would _ever_ use it. Is he coming on too strongly? Stirring too many emotions? He considers backing away from her, but he also knows that giving in on this would send him straight back to square one.

"Hachiman... I..."

He listens with bated breath. Kawasaki's own comes out ragged, as if cut in the air with a blade.

"I... I can't... I can't talk about it."

"Of course. I understand. Most of the time, I can barely stand to _think_ about it. But... if you don't say, and get it out of you, I guess... then obviously, no one else will."

"..."

She looks down. Absently, her left hand moves to the collar of her opposite sleeve, and then, without warning, begins to itch. Hachiman can tell she isn't even aware that she's doing it. But he most certainly is.

"It's just... it's all so confused. I wish that I could tell Ebina, or my parents or Taishi or _anybody_ but... my head... it's all so fuzzy, and I can barely think and when I do it doesn't make any sense, and I just keep replaying what I did and what I said, and I didn't do and I didn't say..."

Pain shoots through Hachiman. Not the pain that _she_ appears to be feeling. Or at least, not the the irritation at her arm, but the emotional kind that needles at you, persistent and forever. The kind that creeps into your bed at night and remains until the sun emerges. Always there. Always and always and always.

Hachiman _understands..._ but does she understand him, or is the pain she's feeling more towards the side of guilt?

He keeps himself in control. Just. Here are the crucial moments. The opportunity for him to get what he needs from her.

"I know what you mean, Kawasaki. I keep thinking about stupid moments that probably weren't even important... but then I think about moments that probably were. I dunno... like when Miura made us play that stupid game of spin the bottle, or when I took you upstairs, when you were drunk and everything had gone to shit. Jesus christ..."

When he brings up taking her upstairs, he sees it. The itching of her arm increases, and not just by a little. It's as if she's trying to tear her skin away, peel by peel, until all that remains on her arm is bone.

"... I... I can't talk about this..."

"N- no... you can. You should, I mean. You can't just keep it all penned up. It's not healthy."

 _Come on,_ he thinks, mind burning. _Tell me, Kawasaki. You know something, don't you? I fucking know that you do. I god-damn fucking know it._

There's one detail in particular he needs to know. Just one thing. But... broaching that subject alone would very probably send her running, and he knows full well he won't get another chance. But on the other hand... this will be his only chance regardless. This is the only time he can ask her.

"You know, something Kawasaki?"

"W-w... what?"

"Sometimes at night, I... can barely even sleep anymore. For thinking about it, I mean. I'm sure it's the same for all of us. Not just me, and... Well, you take it for granted. Sleeping. I'll just be sitting there, in my house at 3 o'clock, and I can hear everything, right across the hallway of my house."

"..."

"I mean... I think it's probably cause I can remember that night so _clearly._ But sometimes I think I can't remember it clearly at all. I kinda wish I was asleep the whole time, like you were, right?"

 _But you weren't asleep, were you Kawasaki? I'd bet anything in the world on it._

"I..."

 _Go on..._

"Hachiman, I..."

 _Fucking tell me, you stupid bitc-_

Suddenly, her voice dissolves away, no longer speech, or at least the beginning of speech. Instead, it is just a whimper. And then come the tears, streaming down her face, so far beyond restraint it's almost pathetic.

"I... I can't bear it."

 _Can't bear WHA-_

There isn't enough time for the thought to fully manifest. All of a sudden, Kawasaki is pushing past him, heading straight for the door back into Sobu High.

But Hachiman will be damned if he lets her go without at least learning _something._

Making it seem as if he just trying to stop her from running, he quickly reaches forward and grabs her. Not roughly or aggressively. That would only terrify her more than she is. As if he is trying to comfort her. But, his arm reaches straight for her sleeve, and while pulling, the fabric _unintetionally_ rises up her arm.

There. Everything is revealed to him. Ugly cuts, many, across the skin, some deep, some small. No longer cuts, but scars. Scars made by a small blade. Perhaps a penknife, or a needle, or something else entirely. He'd guessed it, but at least now, it's confirmed.

He doesn't have time to try and estimate how old they are. Kawasaki has already pulled away. She doesn't scream or shriek. Her eyes widen to the size of moons, and the tears continue to flood.

Then, she is gone, running away from him, opening the door and disappearing back into Sobu High.

Hachiman is left alone.

* * *

When he returns to his house later that day, Hachiman heads straight back up to his room. His thoughts were spiralling so hard, and so quickly, that he felt he was going to be sick. He managed to pull through, reigning his emotions in, until the final lesson, but as soon as the bell struck, sending its screech echoing through the halls, he dashed out as fast as he could. Though not running, his legs carried him at a frantic pace until the sight of his door arrived thankfully on the street.

He knows he has skipped the Service Club session. He knows this will probably attract unwanted attention to himself, especially on Yukino's part, and he knows he cannot afford to break routine so drastically in the future. But fear had compelled his limbs as they pushed him home- some misguided fear that his suspicions might somehow escape him before he wrote them down.

Before he opens the notepad once more, Hachiman finds himself pressing his forehead against the wall of his bedroom.

In truth, he feels... conflicted. Ugly. Disgusting. It disturbs him how easy it was. Manipulating Kawasaki. It disturbed him when he realised it would be pivotal the night before, it disturbed when he opened the door to the rooftop, it disturbed him as he did it, and it disturbs, somehow more, in retrospect.

Essentially, he took advantage of a person who, though not being his friend, was certainly closer than an acquaintance. Kawasaki may not know it, or perhaps she does, but either way she would be better off in blissful ignorance. He always strives to keep those whom his plans involve in the dark to how he has used them- how fortunate for them. Hachiman, ironically, is the one who must live with the consequences of his methods, perhaps even more so than those he exploits.

Morality was never truly a concern for Hachiman in the past. Requests from the Service Club are trivial compared to this. Now, he can see his moral compass for all its worth, in all its grotesque, twisted glory.

But he can all see something else- how frighteningly effective it is.

Then, it occurs to him. A thought that makes his fingers curl into his palms, digging his nails in for further grip.

Perhaps to find someone without notion of right and wrong... you might need someone...

Hachiman shakes his head. _No._

He moves back to his desk, opens the notepad, and lowers his pen.

* * *

 _Prime Suspects:_

 _1\. Kawasaki Saki_

 _2\. Yukinoshita Yukino_

 _3\. Miura Yumiko_

* * *

He laboured over the ordering of those three names. They rotated in his mind like horses on a carousel wheel, but all three of them held out their necks further than any others. He decides that, without further information, the list will remain like that for the foreseeable future.

There is another idea that begs his attention. He decides it should take precedent over anything else at this moment in time. He needs an outline of the night. The outline that he writes will be missing more blocks than he may be able to find, but it will help. It has to.

* * *

 _Before 6:00: Miura Yumiko, Ebina Hina and Yuigahama Yui are all present at the former's house, setting up for the party. I cannot say when the parents left, or how long they stayed for, but I know that they were definitely gone at 7:45 PM, when I arrived, and very probably between 6:00 and 7:00 PM, when Hayama, Ooka, Yamato and Tobe arrived. Would what they were doing before Hayato arrived be relevant? Like too many fucking things, this cannot be accounted for._

 _Between 6:00 and 7:45: Hayama and his wingmen all arrive at the house. The party begins at this point; everyone is drinking EXCEPT for Hayama. I can't help but think this must be important, somehow, someway. He and I were the only ones sober throughout. Though I succumbed to the urge and had a half a can of cider after 9:00 PM, I had none more than this, and it wouldn't have affected my mind. Apart from this, I have no idea what took place between Hayama arriving and myself and Kawasaki arriving._

 _7:45 PM: Myself and Kawasaki arrive at the house. The lights are almost completely turned off at this point, so visibility is low, and I remember thinking this at the time. Finally, from here on onwards, I can write from my own memory. After dispensing with formalities, I quickly found myself a corner of the sitting room on the left to loiter in, and interacted with nobody. I could see Yuigahama talking with Ooka and Tobe at this point by the staircase, and Miura with Ebina in the other room. Though I only caught glimpses of him, Hayato would not discriminate with who he spoke to, apart from me of fucking course_

 _8:00 PM: Yukinoshita Yukino arrives, and therefore, the guest list is completed. For the next hour or so, possibly hour and fifteen minutes, the party appeared to be progressing as normal. All interactions that I had personally were incredibly limited and formulaic- I had momentary conversations with Yuigahama and Kawasaki and occasionally, I found myself glancing at Yukinoshita Yukino from afar. Hayama Hayato, again, would interact with others frequently. Not once did I have a fully fledged encounter with him on the night of the party. The longest interaction I had was, as I have previously mentioned, with Tobe in the kitchen. We spoke briefly about schoolwork and he mentioned how there are no lights in the back garden to help one see. Relevant? Irrelevant?_

 _9:15 PM (estimate): This is the first moment, or at least the first moment that I am aware of and directly witnessed, which I suspect to be of paramount importance. Around this time, Miura Yumiko took up position half way up the stairs and announced to the whole of the party that we were going to play spin the bottle. ALMOST EVERYONE WAS DRUNK AT THIS POINT. I feel that this is important, but as of yet cannot place how. Kawasaki Saki was in a particularly bad state- she'd clearly lost track of just how much alcohol she'd had. Her initial plan of not drinking at all appeared to have been abandoned. Conversations had, as they always will for people under the influence of alcohol, descended into giggles and incoherent nonsense. Who was it that said drunk actions are sober thoughts?_

 _We all moved into the larger front room on the right, so that there was more space, and sat down on the floor. Much was made of how there wasn't an available empty bottle: Ooka was forced to chug the remaining quarter of a bottle of prosecco to make it available. Then, the game started. It carried on, as vacuous as you might expect a game of spin the bottle to be, for around twenty minutes. I myself did not have to participate._

 _During this twenty minutes I myself had noticed how restless Miura was. Constantly, she would glance directly opposite her, where Hayama was sitting. I could tell she was hoping for it to fall for them. Her frustration was become more and more obvious as the game progressed, so much so that soon, I noticed Hayama noticing her._

 _At around 9:35 PM, the incident that sent the party into chaos took place. The bottle, at long last, did land for Hayama. But it did not land for Hayama and Miura; instead it landed for Hayama and Yukino. Instantly, the atmosphere because awkward and strained. Miura drunkenly suggested that they pass the round off, as did Yukino with much anger, but Ooka, Yamato, Tobe and Kawasaki (she was obviously drunk) began chanting for them to proceed. I began to feel wary of this would turn out._

 _Hayama and Yukino, in the end, did not kiss. But Miura became so angered by the chanting that she picked up the prosecco bottle and smashed it on the rim of the nearby table. It shattered into a dozen pieces of tapered glass, both large and small._

 _Though there were many rumours as to how Hayama "killed himself", there was one that was circulated the most, and one that was eventually confirmed by a police officer who'd been sent to the school to conduct interviews for students on the build up to the party. A piece of bloodied glass had been found in Hayama's hand and with his fingerprints covering it, thereby providing the most incriminating evidence for suicide._

 _After Miura smashed the bottle, there was an explosion of movement, and in the dimness it became impossible to make out who was doing what. People bumped each other, people pulling a screaming Miura away, people pulling Yukino away from Hayama whom she looked ready to slap. Several people fell to the floor, though I cannot say who except for one- Kawasaki. I have no idea who may have picked up one of those shards of glass, nor who eventually tidied it up._

 _I instantly noticed Kawasaki falling to the floor, and for whatever reason, decided that I should be the one who took care of her. I picked her up from the floor and pulled her away from the glass towards the staircase. She was very drunk, and whittered incomprehensibly under her breath, often shouting and making very loud noises._

 _After a moment, I decided to take her upstairs and did so, taking her to the left and leaving her in the nearest bedroom. It ended up being Miura's but I did not realise this at the time as the lights were off. I left her with her head hanging over the side of the bed so that, if she vomited it would be on the floor and her arms and legs in a ball. Whilst in the room, her voice became much louder, and she even said my name on numerous occasions. I raised my voice in return to try and placate her._

 _Kawasaki did not come downstairs again for the rest of the night. I cannot say if she moved upstairs_

 _No. I can. Considering today, I think that she did._

 _I came downstairs again about ten minutes after helping Kawasaki upstairs on my own. There was nobody in either the front room or the sitting room at this moment in time. I could hear several voices in the kitchen but none in the downstairs bathroom. I checked where the prosecco bottle had been broken, and it had all, presumably, been tidied up._

 _Presumably. Prefuckingsumably. What does that even mean._

 _I went outside after that. I needed to get some fresh air. All I did was stand in Miura's front drive way, staring out at the road or up at the tiny, lonely stars, in total and abysmal silence. I could've been out there for any time between 15 to 30 minutes, but god damn it I fucking wish that I wasn't. During this period, between around 9:45 until passed 10:00 PM, I didn't have a fucking clue what was going on in the house or the back garden. Anyone could've gone anywhere, or done anything. I am absolutely reliant on other people's recounts. I just stood there, with those blinding fucking porchlights casting my shadow long across the stones._

 _Shit_

 _Fucking shit_

 _I can't stop writing. I have to carry on._

 _Carry on for fuck's sake._

 _Come o_

* * *

Hachiman dropped the pen, collapsed to the floor, and vomited up the contents of his stomach.

The memories were too vivid. Too sharp. Too _present,_ too _there._

They're hanging over him like his own shadow on the drive way. He can see it, clear as a blue sky despite it being only darkness. Yet, no matter how far he runs, or how long he cries, or how long he stays up at night, the shadow will remain, attached to his feet like jet-black manacles.

Jet-black manacles that will only get tighter with the passing of each day.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Soz, this chapter took longer than expected.**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter Four:**

It is astonishing how quickly a place of relative comfort can turn to a place of unease. Hachiman has witnessed a transformation of this kind many times throughout his life; more specifically, thoughout his school life. A lunchtime being disturbed by brainless idiots scowering for a laugh springs to mind, as does an anamolously harsh argument wth Komachi in his sitting room, as does the week following his confession to Orimoto.

And now, so does the Service Club. The one place that, probably above any another, he has wished would remain the same.

It is a much changed emotion to the kind that he felt at those initial examples. Orimoto? Loathing. A raw, sickened, irrepresible loathing, at his own stupidity, at his actions, at his naivety; just at himself. Orimoto played no part in his miscalculation other than being _her_ self. At the others, it tended to be anger. White and hot and spitting and just as irrepresible.

"So... so guys..."

Yuigahama's thin voice breaks the net of his thoughts, largely because, layered beneath her helplessly scattered words, he had identified the very same emotion scattered beneath his own.

"It... how was everyone's day?"

 _Sadnes-_

"It was fine."

Yukinoshita Yukino's response is unlike her. She has a tendency to talk unbridled. Not to run her mouth- on the contrary, her words are chosen with an excessive care that borders on pedantic. She talks unbridled in that her opinions seem streamlined, as if directly connected to her tongue, and they flow out with an icy confidence that leaves whoever is forced to confront them speechless (often him). Except when the few people she considers more than an acquiantance are involved. Or when Hachiman suspects that she's lying.

On second thought, describing Yukinoshita Yukino as unbridled in any respect might be going too far.

"Oh, really? Like... like how so?"

"Is deeming it fine insufficient?"

"Well... no, you don't have to, but you can, like... tell me about it... if you want..."

"... My day was perfectly adequate, Yuigahama-san. I derived neither excessive enjoyment nor boredom from it."

"Geez, you really do like using long words, don't you Yukinon?" Yuigahama says, with a nervous chuckle.

"... This is merely a result of... ah..." The Ice Queen hesitates. "If my vocabulary is in any way disagreeable or overly complex, then-"

"Wait Yukinon, that's not what I meant-"

"I don't believe that you should have to lie for anyone."

Both of them turn to him, surprised and not surprised that he chose to speak.

"Would you care to elaborate on that thought, Hikigaya-kun?" said Yukinoshita, sounding for all the world as if she didn't want him to elaborate.

"Only if you'd care to listen, Yukinoshita."

"Oh, I surely would."

Hachiman opened his mouth, half wanting to begin. Then he saw what he wanted again, shining in the distance, or buried too far beneath him, like lost Egyptian relics. Giving her a chance to antagonise him, when he'd done enough to deserve being antagonised, was far from wise.

"Nothing."

"..."

"... I think I know what you mean, Hikki."

Yuigahama was fidgeting, and the shuddering ambivalence in the air reached her voice too.

"No one should have to... pretend, I guess, just to please somebody else. It's cruel, a- and... and it hurts."

Perhaps Yuigahama Yui was the one who he should describe as unbridled...?

Hachiman nods. "That seems a fair summation of what I mean."

"What you mean..."

Yukinoshita shakes her head, and suddenly, she is averting her eyes.

"What you mean... is very difficult to..." she struggles.

He understands. He understands in a second. Often, a lack of words can convey so much more than a mountain of them. His fingers curl over the top of his light novel. This is one of the constants of the Service Club, alongside the gentle steam of tea, the feathery emptiness of conversation, the glances full of thought and delicate intent, all maintained with an unnerring dilligence in the realm of pointlessness. Now, the steam seems to turn to the singeing kiss of flames on his cheek, the emptiness of their conversation has been weighed down, yanked inconveniently from the sky like a hot air balloon destined to crash, and the glances of assumption and anger and uncertain accusation are all too authentic.

Yuigahama Yui. Yukinoshita Yukino stares at her lap. Hikigaya Hachiman reads his light novel.

In truth, all three are doing none of these things.

* * *

By the time Hachiman escapes from the Service Club, it seems to be much later than five o'clock. The days are unmistakably getting darker, and colder too, and he can feel the harsh, crunching death of fallen leaves beneath him as he makes his way down the street. Yet for what feels like the first time in eons, he is not headed back to his room, but to a nearby suburban high street, if such a place can exist.

It is where students like to congregate together after a school day- or at least, the much renowned cafe that Tobe, Yamato and Ooka were speaking of in today's Japanese lesson is. He overheard them, just a few tables in front of him, their whispers not really whispers at all and more than enough to rise over the dozen scratches of biros ringing from each corner of the room. They'd turned to the table of Miura and her friends, and they'd asked her if she wanted to come to and "revise", and her reply had been perhaps unnecessarily short, and Hachiman had decided he desperately needed to know more.

To know something... The words of Yukinoshita Yukino that he'd stolen, yanked unceremoniously from their place of private seclusion, had focused on fear. Hachiman has found himself reading them as if they are caught on a whirring production line in his mind, and everytime he searches through this one perfect insight, this first shimmering glimpse behind the veil of Yukino "persona", he is left with only frustration. It is his first look at what she might truly _be._ And what has it shown him?

And yet... he feels...

He thinks that there must be something hiding from him, in the letters, in the gasping smoke of their meaning. It is the same hunch that he felt towards Kawasaki. Hachiman himself is afraid of a great many things, but that doesn't mean he feels the need to write about them in such a bizarrely controlled manner, as if he were barely hanging onto to the strings of his resolve and proper grammar was the only thing aiding him in that endeavour. Of course, she is venting, but why should her fear be so compelling to her? She _loathed_ Hayama Hayato; everyone saw it, especially the night of the party, when even drunk the idea of kissing him sent her into a fit of rage. If anyone were to be unbothered by his death, he'd think them to be Yukinoshita Yukino.

Ultimately, Hachiman realises what his own greatest fear is. The fear of _not_ knowing. Therefore, there are a great many things that currently he should be deeply afraid of, and that fear lingers around him, always asserting itself, always present, like the scent of the vomit on his carpet from what is now days ago. No matter what he tries, no matter how many times he scrapes at his bedroom floor, the ugly oppressiveness of that odour somehow retains its potency, and the ferocity with which his questions pummel him is equally relentless. He feels like a boxer clinging to the ropes, struggling to even see his suspicions as they rain on his face. The suspicions of Yukino, of Kawasaki, of Miura, of Hayato, of the party, of the glass...

He knows full well that the Service Club has no answers for him. At least not at the moment. After the incident with Kawasaki, he chose to blend back into his surroundings, to fall back into the routine that the expectant eyes of everyone in Class 2F, of everyone in all of Sobu High, expects that he should guard. That _every_ student should guard, jealously and without blinking. But he cannot wait for answers to come to him and present themselves orderly at his front door. And so, now, he will allow himself to continue.

Tobe, Yamato and Ooka. Three of Hayama's friends, and each of them were _only_ Hayama's friend before the Service Club intervened, in one of their first ever requests. Days of that kind seem incomprehensibly far off, and he knows the same is probably true for these three in the absence of the person who'd once provided the mediating, connecting link. As he turns a corner, the street of the cafe comes into view, and he wonders what they are talking about while sat at their booth, almost certainly not revising. Would nothing be the most likely answer?

The cafe windows, wide and somehow distasteful, give him an appeasing look at those in the cafe even from the very much unappeasing angle which he approaches from. For a place so highly talked off it seems very much the frozen, sanitised, coldly maintained cafe typical of a chain, though this one isn't famous enough for him to have visited or considering visting before. And there, some three tables in from the window, sit Tobe and Yamato and Ooka.

Ensuring that they cannot see him, Hachiman backs up until he can feel the rough press of brick against his school blazer. He can see what he intends to do, to say to them, when they emerge from the cafe, all realised in the spare minutes of the day so quickly lost in the surge of a daydream. But he wants this to be different to Kawasaki, the memory of which has been molded to the putrid taste of rancid food on his tongue. He does not wish to leave feeling as if he has violated her, as if after meeting him he has only contributed to the scarred flesh on her soul.

In no time at all, he sees them coming out, still putting on their blazers as they do so. With the time he spent in the Service Club, they would already have spent close to two hours in their revision session. Hachiman keep his eyes low, hoping he might somehow evaporate into the wall behind him. Nonetheless, as they begin walking back in the direction he came, they seem not to notice, but Hachiman is furiously aware of their hushed walking, of their vain and unsuccesful groping for words in the dark, soundless air.

Only when they are far enough ahead of him for it to appear coincidental, he resumes walking again, looking for all the world as if he were coming from behind them. He catches up, and then Tobe's eyes settle on him.

"Oh... hey, Hikitani-kun! I didn't see you there!"

Ooka and Yamato look at him, and then look away again. Hachiman understands the awkwardness of an encounter on the street with the one person you probably wanted to see the least.

"... I didn't either," Hachiman replies, imitating his usual apathy.

"We were just in the cafe revising. Y'know, the one that everyone goes to hang out?"

"Hanging out? I wouldn't know."

"Ah... yeah, you're not really into that right, Hikitani-kun?"

 _Hikigaya-kun._ "I guess."

The four of them walk on in unforgiving silence until they reach the end of the street.

"Well, we're going this way," Tobe says, gesturing to a street that Hachiman has never seen before.

"Huh. I am too," he lies, voice laced with false regret.

Ooka looks mortified, though Tobe and Yamato do a much better job of hiding it.

"We'll walk together then."

As they continue on, Ooka quickly makes himself known, "So, Yamato, about the Maths equations we were talking about..."

The three of them engage themselves in the 'focus' of their revision session; only Tobe seems slightly aggrieved by the attempt to cut him from the bones of their chatter. _As if I'd want to be involved in it anyway,_ Hachiman finds himself scoffing. Something he'd learnt early about school conversation was how fast, and how intimidatingly to one unusued to it, riajuu would exercise their perceived status over someone who was not a part of that indefinable label. The subtle turning of backs, the sudden raising of a topic that someone like him couldn't relate to, no matter how arbitrary. Interactions between him and another loner, Kawasaki, and between him and riajuu, Tobe and Yamato and Ooka, would always be infinitely separate.

With people like them, a more direct note was required. Otherwise, they'd just close their ears.

"How have you guys been since the party?"

Hachiman is deeply surprised their strides carry on eating into the sidewalk after his outburst. Their expressions, on the other hand, orbit dangerously close to disturbed. Ooka's eyes seem as if they've been forcibly injected with acid, Yamato is looking at his feet and Tobe looks to have lost all empathy for his exclusion. _Try changing the topic now,_ Hachiman dares them.

It was Ooka who manages to respond first. "I... don't think any of us would be comfortable talking abou-"

"That's no reason not to-"

"Of course it is."

Tobe's voice is short, fierce. Hachiman feels them stab into his words, and abandon them lifeless on the ground.

He clenches his fist on his left side, so that they can't see it. _I can't let them avoid this._

"When we get to the end of this street," Tobe all but whispers, "I think it would probably be best if you get a different way from us, Hikitani-kun-"

"Aren't you sick of it?"

They glance to the right to see Yamato. His feet remain the most intriguing thing in the world to him, but Hachiman catches instantly that his own fists are also clenched.

"... Y... Yamato-"

"You must be. I can't imagine _not_ being sick of it. I... wish that everything was just fine, that things were as nice as they used to be. I want things to be normal, but they... they just aren't."

Yamato's words fall over them, grave as the words of a rabid preacher, and just as harsh despite the softness with which they are enveloped. Hachiman knows them, close and personal as if they are his own, and with that knowledge comes a respect that he thought he'd never feel. Tobe's mouth is open in a silent objection that refuses to emerge, because an objection to that would be _fucking pointless,_ like saying the ocean was a shade of purple. Ooka doesn't even manage that.

When they reach the bottom end of the street, Hachiman does not go a different way to them. Instead, they stay clumped together, old friends to anyone at a glance.

"I..." Tobe begins, and then stops again. "I... I want..."

"We all want something," Hachiman finishes. "In fact, I'd say it wasn't too unlikely that we all want something similar. What do you say to that?"

 _Nothing, apparently._

"How have you guys been since the party?" he repeats.

"... We've been continuing," says Ooka.

What a perfect way of phrasing it. _Continuing._ There are no emotions in that nine letter word, no opinion, no judgement or prejudice, just the cyclical movement of feet, the unbending curves of your life as you just _continue_ in the wake of something horrible.

"Same here. But I think a lot. An awful lot."

"..."

"Do you miss him?"

"... Yes."

That was Yamato again.

"He helped a lot... for all of us, I think. And the girls, Miura and Ebina and Yui, y'know. He was kinda just there, and you sort've appreciated him, but it's a lot easier to appreciate him now."

Ooka nods, barely perceptible. Hachiman wishes he could relate, but then he doesn't, because he knows that's false. He never liked Hayato, and liking him now would only be a lie.

It's a reality check, of sorts. Everyone needs, _deserves,_ some inkling of comfort, but comfort isn't Hachiman's priority. He wants answers, and to find them, he has to be selfish.

"I suppose it's kinda morbid, but... I just... sometimes I find myself thinking about the last time I saw him. And how ironic it is that when I did, I had no idea it was the last time. It was just a glance at a party, barely a glance in the dark."

Hachiman isn't lying. He has thought about the last time he saw Hayato, and for him personally it was when he took Kawasaki upstairs, but it is not with the sentiment he implies, but with an objective determination. This is what he wants to know most from them. They were his closest friends; if anyone knew were he was at any point after 9:45, then it's them.

Tobe sighs deeply. "It's so... weird. Surreal. It feels like it hasn't really happened sometimes."

"For me, it was when we played spin the bottle," Hachiman says absently, as if it were spur of the moment, but in truth he is prompting them. Urging them.

Yamato shrugs. "God... I can barely remember anything about that night. We were so drunk..."

Ooka blinks. "Especially after what, like 10? I don't even remember vomiting, for fucks sake."

Hachiman remembers him vomiting. He remembers what happened immediately after that with the agony of not grasping what it meant.

"... We saw him after clearing up the glass..."

Hachiman just about prevents his neck from snapping around, but he can't halt his stare as it fixes on Tobe.

"I don't remember..."

"... I think I do," Yamato says, nodding. "It was when Miura and everyone else was in the kitchen, and she was crying... ah, jesus..."

He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. _No. No you fucking don't. Don't you fucking dare stop._

Tobe's hand finds its way to his shoulder. "... Don't worry. We just... he was just standing there, after we'd got all the glass into a pile. He was just standing outside... he already told us after the spin the bottle that he needed to be alone. I don't blame him, after Yukinoshita-san, and... and Miura..."

Hachiman tries to process the information. They were barely even talking to him. Just voicing the darker confines of their mind that no one gets to see, but to him its not dark at all, but the shedding of light, an illumination. How important is this? Does this make any difference at all? Of course. Hayato was outside in the back garden, and very much _alive,_ at 10:00 PM. It _must_ make a difference.

Tobe, Ooka and Yamato could be lying to him, but somehow he didn't see them as liars. Not about this. No. No one could fabricate the repressed water around Ooka's eye lids, and the nervous twitch of Tobe's hand on Yamato's shoulder blade. And the other detail. That _they'd_ picked up the glass, and then, he assumed, disposed of it.

They wouldn't tell him this themselves, even sub-conscoiusly, if they were responsible for taking a piece of that glass. If they got rid of all of it at this point, did this mean the all important piece had already been picked up, in the druken confusion after Miura had smashed the bottle? No. Not necessarily. It could still just as easily have been taken from the bin in the kitchen. He knows that was where the majority of it was eventually dumped. He saw it when he was throwing away the cider can after 10:00 PM, but of course, he couldn't have counted, he c- couldn't...

Hachiman swallows. _Control._

But... he can't ask anymore questions. They could've seen something suspicious in the way that he broached the subject of the last time they saw him- anything more, anymore questions disguised as speculations, would surely help them catch on.

He wants to ask more. Ooka specifically, about the incident that he'd already mentioned, but...

It is at the end of the very next street that he mutters an insincere apology to the three of them, and then, a choked goodbye, because what else can he say? Seconds later, they have left each other behind.

The only thing Hachiman wants to do in that moment is turn back around, grab them and scream, scream that they needed to empty themselves, empty themselves of every last bit of information that could be of use to him, so he could feed on it. Feed on it like some kind of vile, disgusting leach.

 _What is wrong with me?_

* * *

Komachi is there, in the sitting room, when he gets back to his house. He sees her through the window, bright and stark against the fast approaching darkness outside, somehow shimmering as if she were a diamond trapped in a ring.

For just a moment, he looks at her through the window, wishing that the glass would just melt away and he could go and embrace her, ask her how her school day had gone like eveything was still immaculate, still undisturbed. That he could ask her for her advice, because God how he needed it, and he trusted Komachi above anyone to provide it.

She is worried about him. She has been trying to talk to him since he threw up in his room. He's fairly certain that she knows about that, and about what it means. What it means for him.

Hachiman doesn't think that he'd be able to tell her the truth, about the raging wild fires burning out the neurones in his brain as if they were nothing but wax, if he had hours upon hours upon hours to do so.

The noise from the TV in the sitting room is loud, so when he opens the front door as quietly as possible and rushes upstairs, Komachi doesn't hear a thing.

* * *

 _9:45 to 10:15 PM (estimate): Everything that I wrote previously about this moment in the evening remains relevant, but new information has bee uncovered that must be recorded. Tobe and Yamato and Ooka have told me that they cleared up the glass in the front room on the right, although they only have each other to testify on this so far, as Miura and the rest of the guests were in the kitchen, comforting her. Hayama Hayato was outside in the back garden at this time, though again I only have Tobe and Yamato and Ooka to testify this._

 _One thing about this does not add up to me. Yukinoshita Yukino. It seems strange that she too should be in the kitchen "comforting Miura" when she was the unintentional cause of her tears. For everyone else present, however, this makes perfect sense. Therefore, locations at this moment in time are as follows:_

 _Hikigaya Hachiman: front drive._

 _Hayama Hayato: back garden._

 _Kawasaki Saki: upstairs, Miura's room._

 _Miura Yumiko: kitchen._

 _Ebina Hina: kitchen._

 _Yuigahama Yui: kitchen._

 _Yukinoshita Yukino: kitchen (?)._

 _Tobe, Ooka, Yamato: front room/sitting room (?)._

 _10:15 PM: Once again, I can rely on my own testimony for what took place after this point, when I re-entered the house. As I did so, the party was beginning to very tentatively start up again. Most people were simply milling around awkwardly, not quite sure of where they should or could be. Yuigahama, Ebina and Miura remained clumped together, the latter of which appeared to have recomposed herself. Tobe, Ooka and Yamato made up their own group, and were holding onto each other drunkenly. Yukinoshita Yukino was on her own on the sofa. I retook my position in the corner, giving me a clear view of the Ice Queen; she had a drink that I can't remember in my hands, and I remember thinking how odd it was to see her not in full control of herself._

 _I did not see Hayama Hayato for the rest of the evening. He was definitely not downstairs. Therefore, my conclusion is that he must have re-entered the house just before I did, and was upstairs at this point, though I cannot confirm this. Currently, this is the only plausible explanation for his whereabouts that I can accept._

 _It was only about five minutes later that Miura made another effort to yet again kickstart the party, this time by means of her personal karaoke machine, once again in the larger front room on the right. No one made any effort to deny this, and we all moved into the room to watch, but only the girls would participate so it came across strained and uncomfortable. The karaoke continued for a long, long time, possibly until 11:00 PM. Sometime before this, I decided I had had enough of observing and walked back into the left front room, taking a seat so that I a view of the top of the staircase but not of the other room._

 _The karaoke machine was incessantly oud, so it drowned out the sound of voices beyond those singing, and meant that anything taking upstairs would've been completely inaudible._

 _Close to 11:00 PM was the second moment of the evening that I believe to be of paramount importance. Ooka vomited in the other room, and I heard the sound of his moans and the disgusted shrieks of girls even above the machine. The lights in both rooms are very bright, or at least they seemed very bright due to how my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, and presumably so that they could better clear up the vomit, they were abruptly turned on in both rooms._

 _I found it difficult adjusting to the light, and so for just a moment, I closed my eyes and rubbed them. When I looked up, I saw the legs of someone going back up the stairs, blurred by the colours flashing around my pupils. But I didn't see who it was. Somebody went upstairs at a time when I'm absolutely certain that Hayato was upstairs too, probably avoiding the party, and I didn't see them._

 _I was such a fucking moron. The scent of the vomit became clear to me after that, and still not liking the sudden change in brightness I headed to the kitchen and remained there for about fifteen minutes, just enjoying the silence. I didn't check who was left in the other room. I didn't even think that the person going upstairs was important. Their voices were again lost in the recent pop hit blaring from the machine. I passed it off as someone going to get towels to clear up the mess._

 _But I know that wasn't what they were fucking doing, because lo and behold, the one thing I actually did manage to notice was Ebina Hina, going into the downstairs bathroom and coming out with a bunch of toilet paper for that very purpose._

 _When I came back into the front rooms, I'd had the two ciders too quickly, was sick of the whole damn evening and was hoping that I'd be able to go back home. That was around 11:00, or past it. Thankfully, my wish was granted. The lights had been turned back off, and everyone apart from Hayama and Kawasaki were downstairs and talking about calling the rest of the party off._

 _It was me who decided to go upstairs and retrieve my fellow loner. She was in the same position that I left her in Miura's bedroom, though she'd rolled over onto her side with her arms sprawled down to the floor, and I thought she might have thrown up too. Thankfully, she hadn't, and only gurgled nonsense, half asleep, as I carried her back downstairs. Tobe helped when he saw me struggling half way down the flight._

 _It's same to assume that Hayama Hayato had been murdered at this point in the evening, and was lying in the spare bedroom bleeding out as I did so._

 _What a lovely fucking thought. As we waited for our parents to arrive (mine never did, and I had to walk back), we were all sat around saying nothing, and all the while, the corpse of our classmate was rotting, already putreying, with patches of his skin turning pale like fragments of a ghost, just above our heads._

 _How, goddamn, beautiful._

 _We all left after that. Yuigahama and Ebina went upstairs into Miura's bedroom just once to collect their things from earlier, but it was far too short an amount of time for them to have done anything of note. Then, they left. I was one of the last to leave- Yukino just before me, and Tobe after that. Miura was left in her house all alone. All alone to make her discovery._

 _Miura Yumiko._

 _Miuurrraa Yuuummmiikkkoo._

 _Is that the name of a murderer? If I had to lodge an outside bet without knowing anybody, it would probably be on her. She's the only one, apart from Yukinoshita Yukino, that has a valid motive. I think that rejection from a crush is a stronger one that long passed childhood animosity, too. But so far, I don't see how or when she could've had the opportunity._

 _Yukinoshita Yukino. Yukino. YUKINO. That's a different matter entirely._

 _There's something about her movements, especially after 9:15, that doesn't add up. There's a missing number, or just a wrong number, in there somewhere._

 _Kawasaki Saki is a definite possibility. But right now the thing going through my head is that she's involved, but not the culprit. I know almost for certain that after I took her upstairs she didn't just stay in Miura's bedroom. Of the three, she's the one with the weakest motive, in the sense that I can't really see one at all._

 _Of course, by going through them one at a time, I'm assuming that there was just the one person involved in the murder._

 _Too many things to consider. Too many parts that have been played. Always too many, or too much, or too nonsensical, or too something._

 _There's another big factor I haven't really considered yet. I haven't got a clue whether it was pre-meditated or impulsive. There isn't really anything to suggest either at the moment._

 _No. I'm wrong. People were drunk. If it was pre-meditated, then why would people get drunk? You don't limit your senses if you're trying to exact a plan._

 _To throw off a scent?_

 _Fuck._

* * *

Hachiman buries his head in his hands.

The scent of his vomit is still there. Even when the essence of it, the _tangible_ part of it has long since ebbed away, the memory could reek for an awful lot longer.

* * *

 _Prime Suspects:_

 _1\. Yukinoshita Yukino._

 _2\. Miura Yumiko._

 _3\. Kawasaki Saki._


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: We're pretty much at the half way point of the story now, so I hope that you've enjoyed Broken Glass so far. Unless my plan requires any drastic changes the big denouement will be Chapter 10, and after that there will be an epilogue (if I still deem it necessary) making up Chapter 11. I really love to hear your theories and conspiracies about the murderer, so keep them coming.**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter 5:**

Two days after his encounter with Tobe, Yamato and Ooka, Hachiman found himself presented with the prospect of surviving yet another Friday, but also with the security that he'd succesfully survived three previous Fridays since the party. Three weeks. Three weeks of what? He supposes that it can't really be described as the "same"; instead, it is merely a pale imitation of the same, a colossal inaccuracy, but nonetheless one held together with the most sincere and truthful of determination, found in every single member of Class 2F. Except, theoretically at least, in him.

That was truly what astonished him most about the situation, above its innate ugliness, above the horrific reality that a teenager had been murdered at all. _The culprit must be absolutely thrilled by their classmate's unparalleled ability to bullshit to themselves._ Any efforts they _might've_ made to distract from their actions, or even cover up their tracks, would probably be lost amongst the efforts of others to do exactly the same thing.

That was by far one of the most coherent thoughts that crossed his mind as homeroom ground down to a typically silent halt. That, and a second attempt to better realise an idea that had occured to him late the previous night, again surrounded by the intense blackness of his room and the dim hint of streetlights, cutting scars into his curtains. Currently, the only person's thoughts and actions he could truly _understand_ where his own. Everyone does everything for a reason. Understanding of the actions of others at the party was what he lacked.

Kawasaki Saki. If he was right in his assumption that she was a witness, or involved in some manner, then he couldn't just pass off her actions as beyond him. If he were Kawasaki, why would he have emerged from the bedroom where he left? Why would he have remained silent if he _had_ seen something?

When thinking out her motives, her movements, he couldn't just be objective. He had to be her.

It was in this pursuit that the words of Hiratsuka-sensei, telling him that she wanted to talk to him after homeroom had finished, were almost left discarded. Absently, Hachiman stood before the guidance counsellor, alone, and transported to a different place entirely in his mind. He failed to notice the expression of gentle but very much insistent concern on her face.

"Hikigaya... I'm afraid there isn't really an easy way to say this."

"Uh huh."

 _I'm drunk. Beyond drunk really, so much so that I can barely form a sentence, or move without stumbling, and when Miura Yumiko smashes the prosecco bottle on the table, I do indeed stumble. I lie on the floor, right next to the pool of broken glass. I could pick it up. I have every opportunity to. I don't have a motive to do this, but does anyone have a motive for anything when they're drunk-_

"I think, in that kind of situation, it's best to just ignore the difficult. So... Hayama Hayato."

 _-somebody notices the state that I'm in. Somebody that I'm not close to but could well understand, but the drink has distorted my sight so that I'm not really looking at anything, so there's a chance I don't see this somebody as they put their arm around me and take me upstairs. The lights are off, and its so dark in this house so I could be holding anything, and even if I were accustomed to it, there's the blurs and the confusion-_

"It was a shock to all of us. It probably sounds like a cliche, but cliches are... a good thing to fall back on. They may bore people, but they're largely inoffensive. And that shock... you can still see it, in almost everybody. Huh. Despite your wish not be included in _anything,_ you fall into that category too."

 _-when we get upstairs, the somebody takes me into a room that I have never been in before, so I wouldn't recognise it even if I was sober. I'm shouting, saying nonsense that I probably think is the most poetic thing I've ever said, and the somebody is shouting back, and we're both so loud that anything going on downstairs or even upstairs is completely drowned out. Then, I am alone on the bed-_

"I thought I needed to be worried about Miura the most. You'd expect it, and I am. I've set up weekly meetings with her, which I would've done even if the police hadn't suggested it, but at the end of the day, I haven't got a clue what happened that night. I can't think of an age group worse for something like that than teenagers. You're already a bunch of emotional wrecks as it is."

 _-I'm completely flat out. But, sometime in the evening, I wake up. I could wake up for several reasons. There could be a loud noise, but I'm so drunk that I probably wouldn't hear or register it. It could be something so simple as needing to go to the bathroom. I'm drunk-_

"Hikigaya."

He's no longer in the middle of a party, and drunk, and alone, and waking up to see something that will haunt him for the rest of his life. Hachiman is standing in front of his homeroom teacher, and her concern has become ever more insistent.

"I expect to be listened to when I'm talking to. Basic manners, right."

He drops his head. "Sorry."

She sighs, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Hikigaya... what am I going to do with you, huh? Jesus... I was worried about you anyway. You _and_ Kawasaki. Both of you come in here with bags under your eyes, and when you're _not_ sleeping in my lessons you're off on another planet. It cuts me up to see you like this."

"..." To another person's concern, the appropriate answer, or perhaps just the easiest answer, is usually silence.

"Now when I talked to her about this a couple of days ago, she told me that 'she was fine', which obviously isn't true, but there isn't much I can do if a kid doesn't want to talk. Well... actually, that's not true. The next step is to approach your parents and suggest that they get you-"

"-that won't be necessar-"

"I'll be convinced when you start handing your homework in again."

"..."

"So, Hikigaya. Do you have you want to tell me?"

"... No, sensei. I'm fine."

* * *

"Was... was it better today?"

Hachiman, for the very first time since he was forced into attending the Service Club, is walking home with Yuigahama Yui. In all honesty, it is a small miracle that they've never once found themselves in such a situation; if there is any semblance of honesty remaining in that imagined title they've given to themselves, in the hollow declaration of 'friendship' only revealing its emptiness more and more and more, then surely they would _want_ to walk home together. Their houses are in exactly the same direction. They are clubmates and classmates and that would surely be enough of a connection itself to merit the simple action of walking in step, side by side.

No. God forbid they express _that_ kind of familiarity.

But refusing to express something does not negate its existence. That is why, he thinks, he can never dismiss the lump in his throat, so heavy it may as well be a malignant tumour. That's why he can never dismiss the searing, niggling dejection in his heart, which strangely enough only seems to spike when Yuigahama Yui and Yukinoshita Yukino are nearby.

"Better?"

He may as well have said nothing. He knows what she is referring to, and he knows what his answer is, but all he can respond with is 'better'. Barely a question. Barely an expression. Barely _anything._

He can tell that she thinks so too, but Yuigahama's response can never be as silent or inadequate as his own.

"The Service Club. I think it was better today. More like..." She hesitates. More like what? Normal? What it used to be?

But strangely, he knows what she means. Beyond all likelihood, and spitting in the face of his apprehension when stepping through the Service Club threshold, it had been 'better'. They had entered and carried out their cycles, their greetings and their brewing of the tea and their settling down, which had risen up and fluttered through the air before settling as predictably as ever around their feet, like sand after a storm somewhere in the desert. And then, a storm _had_ come. An autumn rainstorm, spilling tears onto the huge glass windows, tapping on them insistently as if asking for permission to enter.

They could barely hear each other over the noise, over the gushing of the sky as it was cut open to bleed. Hachiman had fully expected for them to wait in silence for the storm to die, and yet suddenly, Yukino's voice had cut above it, mentioning something about the book she was reading. And he'd joined in. And so had Yuigahama. And for the rest of the hour, they'd simply chatted about the stupid book, a children's book of all things, which two of them had not even heard of, and that was just... satisfactory. Enough for them.

When leaving, Hachiman had glanced back. Yuigahama had already left, but as he'd learn later was waiting for him outside in the courtyard. Yukinoshita Yukino had left her seat and gone to stand by the windows, looking downwards at where her pink haired friend might even have been stood below them, exposed to the dying remants of the storm. Or perhaps she was just looking at the tears on the window, the pace with which they fell finally slowing, exhausting themselves on the glass.

 _"Are you coming?" he'd said. "Hiratsuka-sensei will be waiting for the key."_

 _"In a moment, Hikigaya-kun."_

 _He'd turned to go, but then-_

 _"The storm..."_

 _"Yes?"_

 _"I... don't think it's going to end."_

 _He frowned. "It's ending right now, Yukinoshita."_

 _"..."_

 _He left, but knew full well that the Service Club president was still there, staring at the rain. Or at the courtyard. Or both._

Yukinoshita Yukino rarely says things clearly, but Hachiman thought he might've been better than most at seeing through her perfect assortment of smoke and mirrors. The further proof that he was just as lost to her as the rest cut deep into his ego.

One thing that didn't lie to him however, at least in the moment that she'd stood by the window, blending into the Service Club and the glass and his suspicions which built even faster than the tears of the clouds, were his eyes. She'd looked so fucking beautiful.

Why did she always, _always,_ have to look like that?

"I suppose it _was_ sort've better, Yuigahama."

As a matter of fact, a similar thing could be said for the girl beside him. Especially when she smiled upon looking away from his gaze. Hachiman couldn't help but notice it was the first time he'd seen that smile in a while. It reminded him of the last, glowing wisp of sunshine, escaping after a storm.

He allowed himself to indulge in the silence, one of deceptive and oh so elusive comfort, for a minute or so. Then, his mind pulled him back from hope, from fantasy, and back to the brutish, punching objective of 'truth'.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Yuigahama?"

That was why she'd waited for him. He deduced it from the moment he saw her in the gravel of the courtyard, mostly because the break from their quietly agreed structure in waiting for him _at all_ was so apparent it may as well have been a punch in the face. He has a horrible inkling of what her reasons for approaching him are. He'd be surprised if it was anything else, and indeed very lucky.

But he has his own reason to talk to Yuigahama as well. A far more pressing one that he's been delaying inexcusably. Thus far, he has been safe, or at least as safe as he could be in such a delicate matter, regarding who he approaches and talks to. Kawasaki gave him a few answers, and several more questions, so much so that if there were any chance of it, he would certainly talk to her again. But doing that would be something like an enraged bull trying to find his tormentor in an antique shop, without breaking anything.

Tobe, Yamato and Ooka were far more enlightening than he'd ever anticipated. But on the subject of moving forward from here onwards, Hachiman is shakingly aware of the darkness of the path in front of him, and the obstacles which he can scarcely see at all, let alone scale. Miura, Ebina, Yuigahama, Yukinoshita. All four of these people have been directly affected, or are close to someone who has been directly affected. Approaching any of them would require a lot more tact than he'd mustered so far.

But two of these four people are his prime suspects, and all but admitting he does not think Hayato committed suicide doesn't seem particularly astute. Ebina is best friends with Miura, and also very probably best friends with Kawasaki, though upon recalling the tension between them in homeroom he wonders how strained those connections are.

Yuigahama is best friends with Yukinoshita and Miura too. But... if they are to insist on calling each other fr...

Hachiman stops himself thinking about it, closing his eyes. _I... I am better acquianted with Yuigahama, so there is a greater chance she will be open with me. No matter how slight that chance is, how much it could change things forever, even more than they've already been changed..._

He has to know more. This is all.

"Yeah, uh... I did, Hikki."

"..."

"... It's important."

"Go ahead."

She bites her lip, and her eyes summon the image of a child lost in the woods. It occurs to him just how eerily he sounds like Kawasaki.

"... It's about Yukinon."

"..."

"It- it's just that she's going through, um... kind've a difficult time. At the moment."

"..."

"And... well, I- I don't think it's very... I think that friends should there for each other, and not..." She finally trails off.

Hachiman doesn't say anything. He keeps walking, as if waiting for her to finish, but he is only allowing her words to settle, and then to die as awkwardly as he feels they deserve.

"A lot of people are going through hard times, Yuigahama."

He senses the sharp intake of breath, the telltale indication that, like him, there are a great many places she'd rather be.

"... I'd even say that all of us are. Not just Yukinoshita."

"... What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly what I said-"

"Which is _what,_ Hikki?"

All of a sudden, her voice has become laden with desperation, the tugging, awful kind, the kind that no one wants to feel that they've brought about. Not again.

"... Friends don't do this."

"I don't know what you mean, Yuigahama-"

"Friends aren't... they're not... they're not _cruel_ -"

"Friends don't lie to each other either, Yuigahama."

"..."

They keep walking.

"... Hikki."

"Yes, Yuigahama?"

"If friends don't lie to each other, then tell me the truth."

Hachiman knows that looking will probably break him, so he doesn't.

"About what?"

"Ab- about... about why you took the page from Yukinon's notebook."

"..."

"She called me first when she realised. That it was gone, I mean. I, um... I guess I told her that... that it was probably a mistake-"

"And you suggested that she call me to ask, right?"

"... Yes."

"..."

"Well?"

"... Yuigahama... if I went to Yukinoshita right now... maybe even with you, then... would she do the same for me?"

"Wha-"

"Would she tell me the truth?"

"..."

"If I asked her any question that could possibly cross my mind, would she answer me? Can you honestly say that?"

"... I can't-"

"You can't _what,_ Yuigahama?"

"... I can't... I can't just..." He hears the sound of lifting her hands to her face. He hears the sound of her sniffle. "You can't just..."

But she doesn't have an answer. And so-

"I don't know what you're talking about it, Yuigahama. I didn't even know Yukinoshita had a notebook."

...

They keep walking.

"I..."

"Yes, Yuigahama?"

"I... I think..."

She wipes her eyes.

"I think that sometimes, y- you, you can be a really horrible person."

He stops walking. She does too. He lifts his head. He feels it. Something new. Something different to confusion, to helplessness, to frustation, but still all three simultaneously, and also that touch of something so sharp he has never felt before, all bundled into a messy, complicated mass, and something angry and so fucking _furious._ Furious at Yuigahama, at Yukinoshita, at Miura, and especially at Hayato.

"You think that... you think that _I_ can be a horrible person, Yuigahama?"

"..."

"Well, you know who _I_ think is a horrible person, Yuigahama? Do you want to know the kind of person, above anyone, that I think is horrible, sick and god-damn fucking twisted beyond repair? The kind of person who'd pick up a piece of broken glas-"

"Please don't say it, Hikigaya-kun."

He stops.

As she'd spoken, as she'd turned her back on him and refused to even regard him... it was the most sure that Yuigahama Yui had been since they'd started walking, and probably a great many days before that. And yet, he can hear her tears, her boiling emotions, as they pour down her cheeks, or maybe even as they fall and are lost amongst the bleeding pools of the earlier storm.

"I'm... my house is up ahead, Hikigaya-kun. I'm... I've been late, recently, and my paren-"

"I know."

She says nothing, and then nods, and then dries her eyes. Then, Hikigaya Hachiman watches as one of his closest friends walks away from him.

That ridiculous nickname. Hikki. Given to him without request and without judgement.

He's been called a lot of stupid, inconsiderate names in the past. And yet, the time someone used his actual name- not Hikitani or Hikki or Hikio, but _Hikigaya-kun._ That's when it has to hurt the most.

* * *

Hachiman closes the front door to his home.

The anger has subsided by now. It hasn't been replaced by... by whatever Hachiman assumes that he should be feeling after an encounter of that kind. To his surprise, to his relief, and also to his disquiet, the same hastily adopted detachment has burrowed its way back through the bones of his ribcage, or maybe it never left his chest even when he lost his composure with Yuigahama, and it has ensnared and constricted his heart so entirely that the 'nice girl' only brought out true feeling for an instant. And, now that the composure has returned, that true feeling has been strangled and buried inside once more, only to be discovered when he reaches some elevated vulnerability, some lower weakness than he's ever managed before.

He nearly hates himself for it, but the one overriding regret inside him is that he never managed to ask her questions of his own. His feet, as always, remain three steps too slow.

He needs to go over the facts again. Writing his thoughts out has helped enormously in the pas-

"I'm surprised you came back at all, Onii-chan."

His hand is left frozen on the door. It's still ajar, and cold air rushes through the chink in the armour.

Hachiman would've been stupid to think that Komachi would allow him to keep ducking and weaving around her, rushing up to his room and hiding from her as if she was the monster underneath his bed. Even as he'd done so, he'd known full well that it was pathetic. And absolutely pointless. Hasn't he learnt through constant, affirming experience that Komachi is never the kind of person to b-

"Wow, Onii-chan. Just wow. Even _now,_ you're monologuing to yourself."

"..."

Her arms are crossed, and her face had been contorted by a scowl, but when she sees him struggling to even think, let alone respond, the scowl digresses to the concern he knows brought her to stand by the door, patiently watching for the moment he came back to her.

"Onii-chan..."

He removes his hand from the door, allowing it to close, and gathers the strands of his nerves together until they vaguely resemble impassivity again.

"Hey, Komachi... um... how was your school da-"

Before he can say anything more, his little imouto rushes forward and grabs him, shattering his arms in an all encompassing hug.

He winces, and waits for Komachi to break away from him.

She doesn't.

Something like thirty seconds later, he lets his arms fall over her shoulders too, and pulls her closer with a strained intensity that leaves her hair resting just below his chin, and pretends that he hasn't felt so blissfully ordinary for just over two weeks.

"Komachi... are you sure you're oka-"

" _Shut up,_ Onii-chan. You know full well that I'm not fine."

It feels longer than it is when the two siblings break apart, and are left looking at the illogical, ridiculous earnestness in each other's gaze.

"You..." She presses her lips together. "Everytime I tell you the same thing. Everytime I tell you that it's stupid to think whatever crap that you think, that... oh I dunno, that you're alone and no one will give the time of day, because there are a whole lot of people who will, but everytime you think it anywa-"

"There aren't, Komachi."

"... Hu-"

"Just you."

She blinks, shakes her head, looks like she wants to hug him again, but he stops her. This time, Hachiman is fully aware there's a chance she'll never let go, and that he'll let her do just that.

"There's the Service Club-"

He laughs coldly. "Believe me, Komachi. There isn't."

"..."

"I'm sorry, Komachi."

"I know that you are. You _always_ are. All I want is for you to tell me, Onii-chan."

"Tell you what? That I'm pretty sure I'm the only person close to sane in the whole of Sobu fucking High right now? That everyone else has decided it's _so_ much easier to be blind?"

Her pout emerges.

"... What do you expect me to say? Do you want _me_ to apologise for all of them?"

"... No. Of course not."

"..."

"I just... I just wish that other people could see it. It's _maddening._ That no one else can see it."

She bites her lip.

"Hachiman..."

"What?"

"... Do you want to know what I think?"

"It depend-"

"No. Siblings don't lie to each other."

"Neither do friends. Except when it's convenient for them, apparently."

"... Well, I don't intend to lie to you, Onii-chan. I'm going to tell you exactly what I think, even if it hurts. Alright?"

"... Alright."

She took a deep breath.

"I think that... I think that some things are best left forgotten."

...

 _What?_

The words form a line in his mind. _Some things are best left forgotten._ They form a line of guards, and they march together, they march _him_ together, heavily armed with every deadly weapon under the sun, leading him away.

 _Some things are best left forgotten._

He looks at Komachi, and all of a sudden, he feels it again. The furious sound, the silent fury. The knowledge that she doesn't understand.

All of a sudden, it isn't darkened hair that he can see before him, just like his own. It's pink. It's different, it's nothing, and it just...

It just... it doesn't understand.

She doesn't understand.

"I'm going upstairs."

"Onii-chan-"

"Don't follow me."

His voice is cold and piercing, like glass.

* * *

 _Prime Suspects:_

 _1\. Yukinoshita Yukino_

 _2\. Miura Yumiko_

 _3\. Kawasaki Saki_

 _4\. Ebina Hina and Yuigahama Yui and Tobe and Ooka and Yamato and Komachi Hikigaya and Hikigaya Hachiman and everybody in the whole fucking world._

 _Am I wrong? I can't help but think it. It's only natural. I wouldn't be human if I didn't. No one can escape feeling._

 _But I'm not wrong._

 _I know it._

 _The fact that I'm right is so invariable in my mind, it frightens me._

 _Hayama Hayato was murdered._

 _HAYAMA. HAYATO. WAS. FUCKING. MURDERED._

 _I fucking know it, and I'd be willing to shout, to_ scream _it at the top of my lungs at everyone who even dares to say otherwise, and I'd keep screaming it for the rest of my life, and it would be so loud, so totally imploring, that not a single person would deny it._

 _Not Yukinoshita Yukino. Not Yuigahama Yui. Not Hikigaya Komachi. Not Hikigaya Hachiman. Nobody._

 _Nobody._

 _There's nobody. Not one person, but me._

* * *

Hikigaya Haciman arrives in homeroom on Monday, at the start of a new week, without a single moment's sleep to speak of. Throughout the two weeks, he has stayed up far beyond the reaches of midnight, and close to the break of dawn, but there has always been moments of intermittent rest, of single breakings through invisible walls. This time, it was almost as if he chose to stay up.

But instead of finding himself exhausted, he finds himself more determined, more _right,_ than ever.

Upon this odd rejuvenation, he looks at the cliques in the classroom, the same cliques that he's been looking at, searching for a change or a tension more than what he's received upon looking previously. Kawasaki Saki has not yet arrived; she has been arriving later and later since he spoke to her on the rooftop, which he tries to notice the least. Miura Yumiko's clique on the other hand are as there and absent as ever. The blonde haired girl sits chatting lightly with Ebina, whose smile is even lighter, and the boys sit a chair length away from them.

Yuigahama has not arrived yet either. He tells himself that he doesn't care, and it's close to feeling like he doesn't.

Nonetheless, telling himself not to stare when she _does_ walk through the door, and then past him and straight over to Miura, is not quite as succesful. She sits down and Hachiman reaches into the pocket of his blazer and removes his headphones, placing one in his left ear, the one facing the clique, but there is no music playing.

He knows their conversation will be vacuous enough for him not to pay attention. He focuses on the eye contact between them, on the twitching of feet and fingers, and the things they themselves wouldn't even notice.

Yuigahama keeps glancing at him.

She can probably tell that he is watching, but he doubts she will confront him about it. And so, he continues as he would.

It's only when he senses someone else's eyes doing the same that Hachiman begins to really consider the possibility that something is different. But anything different, to him, must be good. He realises that it is Miura Yumiko, and imagines her catlike emerald scanning over him, drawing in his surroundings as if she were chasing a pigeon amongst the autumn leaves.

Just then, something occures to him, which might've done so much earlier: every single girl who found themselves attending the party is very attractive. Beautiful, really. Miura Yumiko, Ebina Hina, Yuigahama Yui, Miura Yumiko, Kawasaki Saki... Anyone would've noticed, and so it makes perfect sense that Hayama Hayato would've noticed too, despite his feigned density.

It's easy to fall in love with a girl of that kind.

After awhile, he realises that the Fire Queen of Sobu High is not looking at him for a reason of her own. Instead, she is looking at him because _Yuigahama_ keeps looking at him. Much more so than usual, and with a kind of wistfulness, of regret, that he can define with ease even from the other side of the classroom. He does not return a similar expression, nor does he wish to care about it. He wants to know what _Miura_ feels about this. Prevouly, he has assumed that talking to the hostess of the party would be impossibl-

Hachiman trails off. Miura Yumiko has stood up and is crossing the classroom towards him.

She stops directly in front of him, forcing Hachiman to remove the headphone and face her, as if he'd been merely dozing. Her face is...

Empty. Cold.

"Hey, Hikio? Can I like, talk to you for a sec?"

He decides there wouldn't be much point in refusing. Miura can approach him anytime she wishes, something which Hachiman could not really consider doing for her.

They walk out of the Class 2F homeroom in tandem, and Hachiman knows that Yuigahama will be watching them.

"Any place in particular we're going?" he asks, once they are out in the corridor. The other forms all sit in place, stale and colourless as ever, as they walk passed their respective classrooms.

"There's a classroom that no one uses down here."

She walks ahead of him, and Hachiman observes from behind as she moves, similarly nervous and intrigued. Her movements are restless and without a doubt faster than usual, like flames of a forest fire are licking at her heels. But, in spite of all this, in spite of how he has placed her in writing... he steals a heartbeat just to admire. Miura Yumiko appears to have thrown herself into the fruitless endeavour of maintaining, of holding things precariously together, without a care for the pain she _must_ be feeling.

Though, there is another way he could look at her actions since the party. If there were a reason for Miura Yumiko _not_ to be as scarred by her macabre discovery as he assumes...

She comes to a stop unexpectedly and throws open the door to a classroom on the left. He follows her into the empty room; its walls are covered in only half removed displays and poorly ordered chairs, and the projector seems to be facing the wrong way.

She faces him head on, but remains largely inexpressive. It's a far cry from her effortless confidence- from her ability to control a whole class of people with a sudden, burning glare.

Hachiman, from nowhere, feels a little... intimidated. She looks like a corpse that's been forced to assume life by a mortuary make-up artist.

"Well? What did you want to talk about?"

"You spoke to Tobe, Ooka and Yamato, didn't you?"

"... Yes."

"And from the looks of it, you spoke to Yuigahama too?"

"... Yes, but I don't see how talking with my classmates is much of an issue-"

"Tobe said that you just met up on the way back from the cafe, but I thought that seemed weird because I know you do the Service Club with Yui. So I asked Yamato, and he told me that you brought up Hayato."

"..."

"Did you bring him up with Yui as well?"

He doesn't see much point in lying to her. He's sick of it.

"Yes. I did."

"Why?"

"... Becau-"

"It's because you think Hayato was murdered, isn't it?"

Hachiman's eyes widen to the size of moons.

He doesn't know what to say. Miura had say it so easily- as if it were nothing. Just another part of her perfectly fabricated routine. If there is anyone at the party who he'd think the least likely to bring it up, it would be her.

"I'll take that as a yes, then... I... I'm not surprised. You notice stuff, right Hikio? I figured if anyone else would notice too, then... then it might be you."

Now, the cracks are beginning to appear. The slightest wavering of her voice. The soils in the pupils of the Fire Queen's brilliant green eyes.

Suddenly, Hikigaya Hachiman has never related to Miura Yumiko more.

"Yes. I think Hayama-kun was murdered," he says clearly.

"Yeah? Well, I think so too."

They fall silent. Hachiman tries desperately to think of what he should say next. What Miura would be _okay_ with him saying. The boundaries between them have dissolved with a few words-

"It was Yukinoshita-san."

...

"... Wha- what do you mean?" he forces out, voice like a whisper.

"It was Yukinoshita-san," Yumiko repeats, with a trembling clarity. "Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato."


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Big chapter this time round. Hope you guys enjoy it, and again, reviews are the best motivation so please keep your thoughts and theories coming. The next chapter is going to be a bit of the departure from the structure of previous chapters, so you've got that to look forward to as well (hopefully anyway).**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter 6:**

Hachiman has never liked waiting. He thinks a person would have to be insane not to. Waiting has a bad habit amplyifing a frustration until it becomes an anger, and an anger until it becomes a shout, and a shout until it becomes scream. But the things he has waited for in the past have never truly reached beyond the prosaic. Waiting for an online shopping order, for the release of the latest manga volume of a series you vaguely enjoyed, is not even within touching distance of waiting at all. Or at least, not within touching distance of _this_ kind. The waiting of a teenager, of the Hikigaya Hachiman of four weeks ago, seems marooned on a different planet. Caught in the gaze of a separate sun.

But he knows it isn't just that. Impatience alone couldn't bring about this sense of purgatorial remoteness, clinging intimately to him like an old married couple. From nowhere, what were minor inconveniences are bullets flashing past his side and his face and his legs, and the threat of being caught in the crossfire encircles him, and though he knows more often than not it will be his mind playing an elaborate trick of threat or self-doubt, the threat and power of the guns seem incontestable.

The homework he has ignored cannot be done so as easily anymore. The people he is avoiding become enormous in the corners of his eye. As always, he is just waiting for the weekend to arrive, but all of a sudden, the prospect of those short two days is indescribable to him.

Why? Miura Yumiko. She has only cemented their importance with the promise of more, more light, more background, more foreground, more brush strokes to the characters developing before him. And, most pivotal of all, she will provide him with the setting, but in its fullest form, not tainted by the strained imaginings of its walls and doorways in his head. Her parents and siblings will not be home for the whole Saturday; according to her, they are visiting relatives on the other side of Chiba, and she has told them that she "doesn't feel up to it".

He imagines Yukinoshita Yukino trying to get around her mother with that sort of excuse.

There is, of course, an opposite side to waiting. One of gradual, pent up, very nearly forgotten excitement. Hachiman will get to see the house once more. He will see her bedroom, where Kawasaki had been left but where he doesn't think she stayed after 9:45, the room where he'd been found, the rooms where he'd lived out the final hours of his fake, cruelly shortened excuse for a life, and the backgarden when it is un-obscurred by all consuming darkness. The place where, unless Miura can tell him more of what happened that night, Hayato was last seen alive.

Unless all three of them are not nearly as close as they'd present, he hopes that she can tell him more of Ebina and Yuigahama too.

He breathes in deeply. It is just after seven o'clock, a little over 48 hours before he can finally talk to her again, beyond the cold, shackled expectations of Sobu High and her clique and perhaps even himself. The window to his bedroom is propped open, allowing the night air to rush in, and when he exhales he can feel its icy fingers, still grasping tightly at the depths of his lungs. He's been letting it enter his room since Monday- since he spoke to Miura. Another attempt to escape from the vomit, which is _still fucking there._

His notepad is out, in front of him on his desk. Something else that, like the cold around him, like the bleeding scent of the contents of his stomach, refuses to be tossed aside.

* * *

 _"It was Yukinoshita-san. Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato."_

 _Those are her exact words. I think a part of me made sure to memorise them exactly, like lines for a play, as soon as they came out of her mouth._

 _I find that to be helpful. Repetition. Writing or saying or thinking about a glimmer of insight; something I decided wasn't worthy of my attention in the shrinking corners of the party, or musings people discarded which, when they too decided not to look, I picked up. Yukinoshita's note, which still conceals itself from me. And, now, Miura's voicing of my own thoughts._

 _"Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato."_

 _I should probably agree with her. No. I_ did _agree with her. I did. But, and how predictable of Hikigaya Hachiman, king of fucking idiocy, is this: as soon as I hear my lines from the mouth of another, I'm no longer convinced by them._

 _They leave you no space to breath. I'm beginning to think that's why. Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato. They are imperative and commanding. Miura Yumiko would only say such a thing for two reasons._

 _The first is the surface level. The explicit, and what she intends me to think is the "truth". But that_

 _Shit. I can't accept it. I don't believe her. There's no way that she's absolutely, one hundred percent that Yukinoshita killed Hayama. She had no oppurtunity to witness a crime. She was downstairs for the whole night- as far as I can tell, whenever she went to the bathroom, she did so in one of the two either beneath the staircase or by the back door. And if she was a witness, then she'd of told the police by now._

 _She hates Yukinoshita. She owes Yukinoshita nothing. If there were concrete evidence, then she wouldn't sit by and let the boy she lov_

 _The boy she was_

 _Obsessed?_

 _Maybe she did love him. Or maybe she convinced herself that she did. There has to have been some affection, at the very least- she could've had any boy she wanted. If a person is willing to wait for Hayama_

 _Obsessed._

 _If Miura had been a witness, if she knew she had weight behind her tongue, then Yukinoshita would definitely not still be attending school._

 _So, maybe she is convinced by something else. Maybe she only_ feels _something. Maybe the certainty of her words is a mirror image; a quick, meaningless reflection conjured by a lost and broken heart. Maybe this is just what she wants to believe- Miura Yumiko cannot process the truth, and so she's detracting from it, undermining it, because how else can she hide from it._

 _A lie, as I'm beginning to know so fucking well, is inifinitely preferable to a truth. Even when a lie couldn't be required less._

 _There's the other option lost in the mess. Somewhere. One I don't particularly want to find, not for anyone. Never. I know that humans are so thoroughly twisted that it becomes a challenge to see where the knot begins, and where knots and flesh connect, interweave and break, but_

 _I don't know._

 _In spite of everything, I'd prefer to feel that humans wouldn't do evil. Or be evil. I'd prefer not to think that Miura Yumiko would be capable of a manipulation that disgusting. But who the fuck am I to talk. In what world could the way I treated Kawasaki not be considered manipulation too?_

 _But that_

 _That was in order to discover a truth. Not to bury it, or toss it unceremoniously onto someone else. Not to accuse Yukinoshita of a crime that she didn't commit._

 _Alright. Miura Yumiko. Let's say that this belief of yours is genuine. Let's say that, somewhere along the line, sometime on the night of that party, you came into contact with an action or a set of words that undeniably proved that Yukinoshita Yukino was guilty of murder. What factor would prevent you from telling anybody until now?_

 _I don't believe that you'd be doing it to protect Yuigahama. Friendship doesn't extend to_

 _No. That's bullshit. A friendship is one of the strongest, most desperately enviable connections in the world. Just because I've never experienced it with any intensity beyond an hour in an after school club doesn't mean that others haven't. For some people, friendship might be the most important thing in their life, enough to lie or to kill for. Friendship could probably be a motivation. Just as much as love or hatred._

 _I guess._

 _It would have to be a_

 _It would have to be the kind of friendship that I'd envy above any other. I'm not entirely convinced that the friendship between Miura Yumiko and Yuigahama Yui is that strong. And this isn't just an assumption. I don't have any solid proof, either._

 _Then again, I don't have any solid proof for anything._

 _Saturday._

 _Not too long now. I can feel it's going to change something. Or maybe this is just yet another attempt, another overtly forceful push for a presumption of a feeling._

 _But I want it to be different. I want her to change something so fucking much._

* * *

Hachiman forces himself to walk the same route that he'd taken to Miura's house on the night of the party. He doesn't want to see the house again on an overcast Saturday afternoon, with a lashing autumn wind that, with the wane of each sunset, draws unmistakably closer to the bite of winter. He wants to see it again with the pale glimmer of Friday night stars, and the harsh stare of those porch lights, which prevented him from seeing even his own shadow as he approached. He's wearing simple clothes- blue jeans, and a light grey T-shirt. Hachiman has never cared for fashion; yet another one of the differences between him and the girl he is going to meet.

It occurs to him, as another street is lost in a callous flash of concrete, that he is close to the spot where he'd met Kawasaki. He allows their conversation to wash over him again- how she'd claimed that she wasn't going to drink, which seems dutifully hollow when thinking of the way she'd stumbled blindly and then, with his help, come to fall upon Miura's bed. He wonders if a connection between the two of them beyond circumstance is possible. Their animosity seems real enough, but if there _were_ a case to be made for the murder being premeditated, Hachiman sees likelihood falling comfortably at Miura's door. It was her house- her party. Her choice to play spin the bottle, and to smash it on the table, and her choice to turn on the karaoke machine.

Hadn't all those choices affected the party in someway? And it was Kawasaki who, beyond any doubt, had fallen to the ground, right where the glass had been broken.

He doesn't see how convenience or practicality would beg such an intricate plan. Why glass, above anything else? Was it really possible to fabricate the breathless anger in Miura's gaze as the bottle landed for Hayama Hayato and Yukinoshita Yukino?

The ponderings abandon him when he sees the gate to the house, unfurling just beyond the hedges that separate all the houses on the street. None of them mean anything at all. Hachiman keeps walking, hoping that the spirals of his stomach, the anxious poundings of his heart, might fade off into a lying obscurity, but instead, it is the vain hope itself that fades as he turns into the driveway, and when he feels the crunch of the driveway stones once more, he can feel it.

Feel what? He's... Hachiman doesn't know. Can he feel the stars again, and the titanic size of the blackness, and the sweat of teenagers as they move in tandem to the music that he's not convinced even _Miura_ truly likes? It's just a house. Just a lump of doorways and bricks and memories and significance and irritation and _waiting,_ and most importantly, of stale and rotting blood, because he swears he can see it, seeping from the cement, from the spare bedroom where he was found, and then from the front door that is suddenly in front of him.

Hachiman swallows, and knocks, waiting for Miura Yumiko to answer.

She opens the door just moments after. It doesn't seem implausible that she'd of watched his approach when he first came into view, at the bottom of her street. She's wearing a pair of grey joggers and a top which Hachiman finds himself noticing, with more guilt than he'd admit, is tight around the curves of her chest. Her emerald eyes are half closed and her bed hair stretches and twists, like a fire on the verge of being extinguished.

"Hey."

"... Yeah. I kinda forgot that you were coming, Hikio."

 _So the first thing she says to me is a lie? How promising,_ he thinks sardonically. Through the dryness, he realises this is the first time he's seeing the Miura usually confined behind the effrontery of Class 2F. Her face looks directionless without its usual sheen of make up. The sharpness of her voice has been blunted.

She leads him through the hallway and into the two open plan rooms. The front room and the sitting room. His attention collapses upon them, breathing his surroudings in, accepting them and pushing them back towards the surroundings of his memories, seeing where his mind and reality departed. The mantelpiece is higher up than he'd thought it was, but the pictures of her family are smaller somehow. Shrunken.

He looks over to the table where the girl in front of him had smashed the bottle. The scar on the glass, etched by the impact, is ugly and big enough to assert itself on the eyes of anyone who cares to look.

"... D'you want something to eat?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"... Huh... I'm pretty sure I, like-"

"You said that to everybody when they came in."

"Yeah. On the night of the party."

"..."

Hachiman looks over Miura's shoulder towards the door, separating them from the kitchen and the view onto the back garden. That's something he wants to see perhaps above anything else. He's had an idea. About Hayato. About how the time he spent in the back garden may have unfurled-

"Do you wanna talk upstairs?"

"... Sure. I'll meet you up there. I just need to go to the bathroom."

Miura shrugs and turns away from him, and her steps crush into the staircase. He moves towards the door to the bathroom underneath it, looking as if he's about to enter, but when he hears the sound of her entering her bedroom from the landing above, he stops. There are too many things that he needs to check. Hachiman doesn't intend to waste a single moment.

First of all, he switches on the light of the bathroom in front of him, revealing its musty, cramped smell, the plaster covered walls of a different shade to the rest of the house, how bare it is. Nothing except for the toilet, and the paper roll held just above it, without cupboards or a sink. The room is in too small a space to be changed or improved, and judging from the renovations made to the rest of the house, he supposes this an unending source of annoyance for the Miuras.

This was the bathroom that Ebina had entered, collecting the toilet paper to clean up Ooka's vomit, just after the lights blinded him from seeing who had gone upstairs. He doesn't remember seeing anything else of note, but again, there is the time he spent in the frontdrive.

During this period, the only people's whereabouts he's managed to account for with any certainty are Hayama's friends and Hayama himself. In theory, they were all in the kitchen, comforting Miura, and Hayama in the back garden...

Hachiman considers, and then reaches forward, flushing the toilet. He leaves the door open, allowing the noise to seep up the staircase, and hopefully muffling the sound as he lets himself into the kitchen. He'd rather Miura not know that he's _already_ snooping around her house. He fully intends to ask her if it's possible to see the other rooms later on, but there's always the chance it will "make her uncomfortable".

The kitchen, more so than the front of the house, looks completely different with the presence of daylight. The curved wooden surfaces are granted an extra sheen, and the table is far more ordained than when he'd sat there towards the end of the evening, escaping from the incessant noise of the karaoke machine.

He moves quickly, before the sound of rushing water comes to a rest, and looks inside the bathroom by the back door for the first time. On the night of the party, Hachiman had only used the one beneath the staircase. It's at least double the size, with cupboards and even a dark, almost bottle green ceramic bathtub.

But no windows. Nothing, at least in this room, to support the theory that is blossoming in his mind.

The silence returns just as Hachiman begins heading up the staircase. At the top, he reminds himself of the layout of the rooms on the upper floor. The bedrooms on the left, where Miura is waiting for him. The spare bedroom and the bathroom on the right.

He raps his knuckles on the Fire Queen's bedroom door.

"Can I come in?"

"Duh."

He pushes the door aside, and is onslaughted by a barrage of pink, painted onto the ceillings in a pattern he supposes should resemble flowers. Miura herself is sat cross legged on the fluffy duvet, like a cat perched atop a scratching post. Her iPhone had been in her hand, but she puts it down hastily as he enters. It's considerably larger than his own bedroom, with a TV hanging from the right side of the wall and a desk almost two metres wide on the left.

"It's a lame room, I know. I keep asking my parents to change it, 'specially the paint job, but like, money and stuff."

It's like stock footage in a B-movie. Archetypal, expected, shoved out without an ounce of care or emotion. He wants to ask her if she says that to all of her "friends", but refrains.

She sits, and he stands, hushed, as if neither is aware that the other is there.

"... You can sit down, y'know."

"I'm okay, thanks."

"Whatever, Hikio."

He coughs.

"Are you... um... is it alright if I ask you-"

"What about?" she says sharply.

"... Well, what do you think? About the party."

"I told you. It was Yukinoshita-san."

"..."

"Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato... I... I thought th-, that you knew that too-"

"I don't. I only have your word for it."

Her fist clenches on the duvet.

"Then... then who else could've done it?"

"I thought that was why I was here."

"..."

Hachiman takes her silence as permission, and moves closer to the bedpost.

"You invited Ebina-san and Yuigahama-san early, right? On the day of your party? They were here in the afternoon as well, way before Hayama and Tobe and the rest arrived."

"Yeah... so what?"

"... I don't mean to sound intrusive, but... do you remember anything unusual happening? In the build up to the party? Both on the day itself, and maybe even beforehand too?"

"Not really."

"... Are you sure?"

She hesitates.

"... Nothing important."

His eyes sharpen, not quite enough for her to notice.

"What do you mean? Nothing important?"

"It's just... Yui didn't know, is all."

"About what?"

Another hesitation.

"Look... you'd be, like, totally wrong if you took this the wrong way, Hikio. It doesn't mean anything at all, but... well... do you remember when I came to your clubroom the week before? And I invited you and Yukinoshita-san as well as Yui?"

Hachiman had hoped to ask her about this. Her motivation for inviting them in the first place. It doesn't escape him the way the name "Yukinoshita-san" is spat on her tongue.

"Yes. I thought it was strange at the time, and so did Yukinoshita."

"... I hated hearing them, Hikio. The rumours. The rumours about Hayama, and... and that... that _bitch._ You'd always hear them. _Always._ People would be whispering about it, about how they were secretly together, and how she was going to come to my party, an- and you'd hear them just out of earshot. And I... I hated her for it."

"So why did you invite her?"

"..."

"Miura-"

"I was going to play a prank on her."

 _He knew it._ He knew there was something off about the invitation. In the end, Hachiman was so often right it surprised him.

"And you invited me as well because... what? Because Yukinoshita wouldn't believe you if it were just her on her own?"

"... Yeah."

"What kind of prank?"

"We... I was going to spike her drink. Y'know, just... just make it way stronger than it seemed. Enough for her to make a fool of herself. Enough for her to get blind drunk, and wipe that... that _look_..."

He also knows the look. The haughtiness. The superiority, that you sometimes catch without Yukinoshita Yukino intending that you catch it, and that sometimes you catch when she's fully intending you do.

"And eventually, you decided not to go through with it?"

"... No. I... wanted to, but I didn't."

"Was that your choice? Did anyone else know about it?"

"N- no... I mean, I only told Hina. I tell her everything, so... she knows how much I liked him. Hayato. And I could see she didn't think the prank was a good idea, but she never told me to stop-"

"Then who did?"

"Yui. I would've usually told her too, but... I knew she was friends with Yukinoshita-san. Hina decided to tell her a couple of hours before people arrived, and Yui made me promise not to do it."

She pauses. "She... she wasn't happy about it-"

"I can't imagine _I'd_ be happy if one of my closest friends was about to have their drink spiked."

Hachiman expects her to flinch, but instead, her voice turns to stone.

"Yukinoshita-san is a murderer, _Hikio._ I don't give a fuck what you think."

"..."

"... Is that it, huh? You ready to accept it now?"

"No. Not unless you have any proof."

Miura's hands fiddle with the duvet again, and suddenly, the confidence returns to his voice.

And a flash of inspiration too.

"Kawasaki..."

"What about her?"

"Is there any chance that someone else could've taken the spiked drink?"

"... Well, we just left it on the side. In the kitchen, right at the back. Me and Yui were too annoyed at each other, and I guess we kinda forgot about it... but after we made up and apologised, I kinda just assumed that _she_ got rid of it-"

"So someone _could've_ taken it? Someone you didn't intend?"

"I mean, probably. You know how dark it was, a- and, and at a party, you kinda just pick up the first drink that you see..."

 _Especially someone who, like Kawasaki, has never once been to a party before. Someone who wouldn't know they were blind drunk if it punched them in the face. That would explain why she was so pissed, right after telling me she wasn't going to drink period._

"Anything apart from that, before the party started? When it was just you, Ebina-san and Yuigahama-san?"

"No."

"And just when did Hayama and his wingm- ... I mean, Tobe, Yamato and Ooka. When did they arrive?"

"... I dunno. Probably, like 6:30?"

"Okay. Did anything happen between 6:30 and 7:45, when me and Kawasaki arrived?"

" _Nothing._ It was just a normal party, okay?"

Hachiman realises, without warning, that he'd begun pacing around the bedposts. He stops, but it's too late. Miura's green eyes are flickering, startled, and he thinks of a murder of crows sent flying into the air by the shot of a farmer's gun. Her fingers are turning white on the duvet.

 _She's suffered more than you, Hachiman, be it through guilt or grief. You have to be careful._

He lowers the intensity of his voice. "I'm... I'm sorry Miura. I didn't mean to sound like that. I just... I want to..."

"... No. I understand, Hikio."

"Um... good-"

"We're moving away."

The interruption is so abrupt he doesn't know what to say. She stares back at him, without judgement or prejudice, just waiting for his reaction.

"You're moving house?"

"Yes."

"Where to?"

"Just the other side of Chiba. Mom wants to be closer to grandad, y'know. He's had dementia for a while now, and..." She trails off.

"Yes?"

"And... and there's blood in this house, Hikio. I can feel it. Everywhere."

Hachiman can feel it too. The splash of it. The echo. The drip of a corpse left to mould and decay on the covers of a room just across the landing, and the crescendo of his bones, tapping a constant, monstrous symphony on the walls and the doors. He felt when he was entering. He felt even from his own house, calling through the days and nights.

 _Who wouldn't want to leave?_

"... Are you okay if I..."

"If you ask more?"

"..."

"I guess."

He swallows.

"I won't ask you about the spin the bottle. I was there, and I doubt _any_ of us would've seen things clearly in that light. I'd... I'd like to know about the next twenty minutes or so, though. When you were in the kitchen."

"... There isn't much to tell. When the bottle had been smashed, there was that... that, like, panic. Everyone was falling over and confused, and... But Hina and Yui took me into the kitchen, and we sat down. I could barely tell where I was, and nothing was really making sense-"

"Who was in the kitchen with you?"

"... Well, Hina and Yui, like I said. I was there the whole time. Um... Tobe, Yamato and Ooka were there, kinda just loitering. I could tell they didn't know what to say, and they're Hayato's friends, so-"

"Was Yukinoshita there?"

Their eyes meet.

"No," she says at last.

"Okay... so she _was_ upstairs..."

"No she wasn't."

"... What?"

"Yukinoshita-san was outside. In the back garden."

 _... No. That doesn't make any sense. Tobe, Ooka and Yamato told me that_ Hayato _was in the back garden. That's logical. He needs time alone, so he goes out to the back garden. What reason would they have to lie?_

"What reason do you have for thinking that?"

"... I... dunno. I just assumed that she was-"

"So you didn't actually see her? Yukinoshita. You never once _physically_ saw her leaving the house?"

"Well... no-"

"Then _why_ do you think that she was outside?"

"I..." She rubs her eyes, looking overwhelmed. "I... I'm sorry, Hikio. I dunno. I was drunk. We were _all_ drunk, but I thought... I guess I thought that I saw her leaving. I don't know why. But... that was what I thought. Definitely. I don't know why."

"Did anyone else mention that she was outside? Yuigahama, maybe?"

"No. Like I said, I... suppose I just imagined it."

Hachiman blinks, grappling with what he's been told, with the idiocy of it all. _How am I supposed to interpret a load of shit like that? Is she lying? Are Tobe, Ooka and Yamato lying? Why on earth would she lie for Yukinoshita? If anything, claiming that the Ice Queen was in the back garden at that time, instead of Hayama, would provide her with a fucking alibi._

 _Unless... unless she's not lying to protect Yukinoshita. That would be ridiculous. What if she's lying... because Hayama being outside at that point in time really_ does _affect things?_

Its a gutting reminder. No matter how convincing the bags under her eyes are, with the purple so intense it seems as if she's been punched in the face: Miura Yumiko is still very much a suspect.

"There's something else about that time. Between 9:45 and past 10 PM. Can you remember if anybody _left_ the kitchen? Whether anybody went to get something? In the back garden or in the rest of the house?"

"... Yes. Tobe, Ooka and Yamato left at one point. I think they went to clear up the glass-"

"And did they come back with it?"

"Yes. After a while."

"Can you remember what they did with the glass when they came back into the kitchen?"

"Um... I'm pretty sure they just went and chucked it."

 _Okay. That's fine. That's in accordance with what they said themselves._

"Do you know if anybody went towards the trash _after_ they'd dumped the glass there?"

"... Yeah. Hina did, at one point."

"Why?"

"I think she was throwing some of the cans left on the table."

"And did Ebina herself leave the kitchen at any point?"

"... Yes."

Hachiman's blood stops.

"When? Why?"

"... Does it matter? She... she said that she was gonna clear up the glass. She hadn't realised that Tobe and the others had already done it, a- and she just came back in a couple of minutes later. It didn't mean anything."

"Did Ebina go to the bin before or after she left the kitchen?"

"It... it was before. Definitely, but- but like I said, that doesn't mean anything! Yui left the kitchen too, to get me a towel because I was crying and it was getting everywhere and there were already drinks on the floor and... and so did Tobe and Ooka and Yamato, to go and clear up the glass, like I said. It doesn't mean anything."

 _Of course it means something, Miura._

"So Yuigahama came back with something to dry your eyes, yes?"

"Yeah."

"And Tobe and the rest came back with the glass?"

"Y- yes. I've already told you."

"But Ebina came back with nothing."

"..."

"Well? Did she or didn't she?"

"... No. She... she didn't have anything."

 _And not only did she leave the kitchen- she left it_ after _going towards the trash, which would've given her every oppurtunity to pick up one of the pieces of glass._

 _Although... like Miura said, I can't ignore the fact that Tobe and the others also left, as did Yuigahama. They all had time alone in the house, where no one could've seen or witnessed anything that they did. But... what could they have achieved in this time, when_ three _of them have testified Hayama Hayato wasn't even in the house at all?_

 _Is this where Kawasaki truly came into pla-_

The sound of tears brings Hachiman back to Miura's room. It brings him back to the pink, and the duvet, and the bedposts and the slash of glass on wrists, just fast enough to see the blonde stand up for the first time in their conversation.

"You... you don't understand."

"Miura-"

"No. You don't understand. I... thought you understood, but you don't. No one understands anything at all."

He sees the moisture on her cheeks, and then he hears it, choking and spitting like dynamite, and then she whimpers and slams the door to her bedroom in his face, and instead of the hot rush of adrenaline, it's guilt that punches violently in his veins.

 _You don't understand..._

He can almost see Komachi. Feel her voice again. He has cursed it, begged that the sense of her would just leave him alone. And yet, he's made someone else feel the same. As if they were alone, and as if the world were a pack of wolves that cared nothing for reason, and chewed on the dented skeleton of their sense.

He opens the bedroom door and steps across the landing, stopping outside the bathroom, where her quiet whimpers flood out from the gap between the carpet and the door.

 _What am I doing..._

"Miura..." he murmurs.

"..."

"I'm... I'm sorry."

"... How many times have you said that already, Hikio?"

He says nothing after that. He waits, until eventually, the whimpers quell themselves and the door is pulled open. Miura Yumiko stands there, nowhere near close to in control, and her hair is even more spilled out, even more lacklustre, than before. Her can see wet patches on the towel where she has dried her eyes, which drapes like ritual dress towards the floor.

"I'm sorry," he repeats.

"Yeah."

She walks out until they are standing next to each other. Hachiman with his hands in his pockets, and Miura with her fingers interlocked.

"... It was Yukinoshita-san, Hikio."

"..."

"I know I've said it before, and you probably think I'm crazy, but it really was. Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato."

"... Why do you think that, Miura?"

"Are you sure you wanna listen this time?"

"... Yes."

He waits for her, knowing full well he doesn't deserve a moment more of Miura Yumiko's time.

"Because I saw her."

"You... saw her? You mean... do you mean that you witnessed it?"

"... No. I didn't witness it. But I saw her."

"When?"

"It was... it was after 10. When the karaoke machine was playing. Ooka had just thrown up, and Hina went to get toilet paper to clear it up, and the lights turned on. Yukinoshita-san... she went upstairs. I _saw_ her. And apart from when Yui and Hina went to collect their things at the end of the night, and you went up and helped Kawasaki back downstairs... she was the last person to go upstairs for the whole night-"

"And Hayama was definitely upstairs at that point."

"... Yes."

"..."

"Don't you see it? You see it right, Hikio? Yukinoshita-san murdered Hayato."

He says nothing.

 _So it was her. The person I saw going upstairs, but didn't quite catch the first time I looked, all because of the stupid fucking lights... it was Yukinoshita._

 _I can't just conclude outright that it was murder. She could've gone upstairs for any number of things. She could've just needed the bathroom... but why not use the downstairs-_

"Miura."

"Yes?"

"Which way did she go?"

"... Which way did sh-"

"When Yukinoshita got to the top of the landing, just after the lights had been turned on. Did she turn left or right?"

"You keep asking these questions that don't make any sense-"

"It _does_ make sense, Miura. I promise you."

"..."

"Pleas-"

"Both. She went both ways. At first, when she got to the top of the stairs, she went right, towards the spare bedroom and the bathroom. But... but on the second time... I saw her go back across the landing while she was still upstairs. Instead of coming downstairs, like, straight away, she went across in the direction of my bedroom, and then a couple of minutes later, she came back down. I... I thought it was weird even at the time."

 _... Brilliant. Just brilliant. Another perfect conveying of nonsense. Why would she need to go to the bathroom, or the spare bedroom, and then_ specifically _to Miura's bedroom as well? Why in that order-_

 _Kawasaki._

Be her a witness, a victim, or a culprit, Kawasaki was deeply involved in the murder. It was becoming more and more irefutable.

But Hachiman finds that, in the here and now, his mind is not full of the party. It is not full of revelations and epiphanies and truths and assertions of it. For the first time in days and weeks and maybe beyond that, a portion of his head, and a portion on top of that, is almost _clear._ It isn't full of stars, alcohol, parties or lies, but by the sight beheld directly in front of him, in a vision undiluted, as if sobriety has finally fallen upon him. As if _sanity_ has finally fallen upon him.

All he can see is Miura Yumiko. A teenage girl. A person his own age, without a clue how to act or control, and if this very lack of control had killed the boy she was obsessed with, if she was lying through her teeth to him even as she stood there, tears not quite memories yet, hair like rays of sunshine, trapped and braided in a bird cage... he could almost bring himself not to care.

He doesn't want to add Miura Yumiko to Kawasaki, to Yuigahama, to Yukinoshita, to Komachi, until she too becomes permanently alloyed with the people that somehow, someway, he has managed to hurt.

He wants to feel as if he isn't...

 _How did Yuigahama put it?_

 _Oh yeah: cruel._

But in truth, it's even simpler than that.

He just doesn't want to feel like he, _himself,_ is a murderer.

"Miura..."

"What is it?"

"Do you want to talk?"

"... What about?"

"About everything."

Miura stays silent, but he thinks...

He thinks that she probably understands what he means.

* * *

Hachiman remains at Miura's house for the next four and a half hours.

All the while, they live up to his promise, and they talk. They communicate with each other, two people brought together by the same blood-soaked coincidence, and this strange union, a coupling like two lost birds dropped to the ground from a nest they can no longer reach, touches everything. They talk about moments where waking up in the morning had felt like an undertaking worthy of Hercules, and getting through the school day far beyond even that. They talk about when emotions broke through slapped layers of make up, and through dead fish eyes intended to see the world in nothing but predetermined cynicism.

Miura is undoubtedly the one who talks the most, partly because Hachiman lets her (the sense of obligation, of owing something, spears him deep in the flesh), but also partly because she has misplaced something of much greater significance than him in the loss of Hayama Hayato. Sometime in the wake of these four weeks, Miura Yumiko must have become aware of some monumental shift, like tectonic plates opening and leaving only a fissure behind, and into this fissure she has watched her innocence and her youthful bliss fall away, until all that is left for her is to clutch at the whispers they contemptuously left behind.

Hachiman tells her what he can, hoping he might understand her back through a wave of pity he couldn't even begin to express. He tells her of his clutchings, his own groping in the half-hearted darkness for a purpose beyond that five letter word which keeps emerging in his mind eye, again and again and again. Truth, and truth, and truth, and _truth._ Its gradual scream, its rhythm.

When the sun begins to fall in the Chiba sky, Hachiman decides that he had overstayed his welcome the moment he stepped through the door.

"I should be going," he tells her. "Komachi will be worrying about me."

They had arrived at all the rooms of the house at some point during the four and a half hours, and the back garden too, unwillingly giving Hachiman his second glances. He stole them carefully, keeping his objective in mind, even as he left most of his attention to Miura Yumiko.

"Alright," she replies nodding. "My... my family will probably be coming back soon, too."

They move to the hallway, and she opens the front door. He steps out into the dusk air, and the porchlights shine violently once more.

"I guess I'll see you on Monday, Hikio."

"Sure."

It seems that both of them can still lie. They know things will return to how they were on Monday, because how else can they handle it?

"Thank yo-"

"Please don't."

Hachiman thinks this is enough, and so he turns to leave, walking up the driveway with his shadow in front of him. The beginnings of the night stars, and the moon, are blocked out by darkening clouds.

Suddenly, he hears a strangled cry. Something almost inhuman.

Hachiman turns back around. Miura is still stood where she was, leaning on the threshold. Only now, she's leaning on it so it might keep her on her feet.

"Miura?" he calls out. "A- are you okay?"

"... I'm... I'm sorry. You just... I thought you were him for a second. I've... seen him again before... in their faces and shadows, but with you... it was like he was..."

He can't see her face because of the fucking porchlights, and she closes the door before he can offer her anything close to comfort.

On the journey back, Hachiman thinks that he should probably have felt something in response to that. Perhaps he felt it for just a moment but, like the mirage of blonde hair and blue eyes and muscled frame plastered onto him by Miura's mind, it was gone too fast.


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: So as I mentioned in last AN, this chapter is basically me having a play around with the structure of the story so far. Usually we'll have 8man's notebook writings contrasted with the actual real life happenings, but from the start of the story I've been intrigued by the possibilities that the former writing format opened up. So, this chapter will be completely based around stuff that Hachiman's writing in his case file/diary; I really wanted to expand on his feelings as well as his theories on the murderer.**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter Seven:**

 _I'm surprised. I actually fell asleep immediately after getting back from Miura's. I've felt tired a lot recently, but this was the persistent tired that you can't just shake off by turning on the lights or getting out of bed or staring out of your window. I found that I didn't want to shake it off, either. So, after, avoiding Komachi like the bubonic plague, I collapsed on the bed and fell asleep straight away. Genuinely. Like it was my first year at Sobu High all over again._

 _It hasn't done much good. It was only the evening when I got back, so seven hours has just about lasted me to 1 o'clock in the morning. And lo and behold, I'm now very much awake._

 _The sweating from the nightmare's just about stopped. I opened my eyes drenched in it, with the sheets soaked straight through as if a tidal wave had fallen upon it, and I myself was swept away in the undercurrent as easily as rolling sediment. The waves were in the nightmare too. I opened my eyes while they were closed and suddenly there was water all around me, and the ocean was dark without any or morning or afternoon or evening stabbing in from the surface. Just a timeless, throbbing blackness, and I was drifting along, simple and stupid, blind like I am in the day, when I'm wide awake._

 _Somewhere along the way, in the gushing seconds just before I woke up- I swear I've heard that dreams really do only last that long- I began to make out these shapes. At first, they were just specks in the crush of the water, and thinking about it I shouldn't have been able to make out the shapes at all if it was a dark as I dreamt. But then I drifted closer to these specks, and they began to flutter into fullness, into flesh and faces, and I realised they were the corpses of the names in my head. Ebina Hina, Miura Yumiko, Yukinoshita Yukino, Kawasaki Saki and Yuigahama Yui and all the rest. Through the pressure of the ocean, I thought I head a meaningless echo, like the rumblings of a prehistoric monster beneath me. Then again, it also sounded a little like a karaoke machine._

 _But I drifted on, looking at the bodies and their hair, lifeless and floating like seaweed. They weren't moving, so I supposed they'd drowned, and they didn't have any cuts or redness around their skin or their fingernails, so they couldn't have been stabbed. But then there was another shape. One that I couldn't identify, as wholly black as the waves around it, and it was faceless and distorted, and it was surrounded in redness, in blood and it was bleeding from every pore, and in its hand was a shard of glass that was larger than nightmares, and I drifted closer and closer until I might've been able to turn the body around and see who it was. I did, but there was nothing there. An empty black hole where there should've been a skull._

 _Then, something broke, shatttered, and I woke up._

 _It wasn't Hayama Hayato. I think it was probably the person who killed him, and since their face is unknown to me I just shaded it in, so that it conjoined with the ocean and I could only stare and hope person and water would identify themselves._

 _I feel like I'm riding the crest of a tsunami. Not just in my nightmares, I mean. I feel like I'm staring down at the coastline beneath me, and then the wave falls in on itself and onto_ _that coastline and I'm just lost in the rubble._

 _Which face should I really be shading onto that shape? Which face belongs to it?_

 _On Thursday, there was a moment in another Math class (that I failed to pay attention in) where I thought about the police investigation that took place. I'm usually a cynical person, so it stands to reason that I should be cynical about that too; yet I found myself trying to occupy the shoes of one of the police men who investigated the house, or the people who performed the autopsy on Hayato's body. Trying to empathise with them. There had to have been an autopsy- the circumstances weren't nearly as open and shut as they made it seem._

 _Who am I kidding? I think that they probably knew. That it wasn't just open and shut. I'm just some retarded pseudo-narcissistic teenage boy, and if I can tell that there isn't a chance in fucking hell that Hayama committed suicide, they could probably tell too. They're professionals. They must've done._

 _I think the reason why they pretended that it wasn't is twofold. First: they succumbed to the same urge as the majority of the school. To find ease and comfort in ignorance. But again, the police aren't just stupid teenagers. The other reason is that, despite all reason suggesting otherwise, there probably wasn't any conclusive evidence. The murderer somehow managed to cover their tracks well enough to avoid being traced._

 _At the end of the day, it all comes down to practicality. I'm sure all those honourable, righteous police men would rather cut a few hours off their working day than find a murderer._

 _Maybe they knew who did it, but wouldn't have been able to prove it. Maybe they just let someone go free, because they were just young and stupid and drunk, or because there's no point in ruining a teenager's life when they most likely had no idea what they were doing._

 _To be honest, I couldn't give less a fuck about that. Adults are proficient at not taking young people seriously- they'll let them fight wars, and do all the work, but treat them as real people? Nah. But what does it matter how old a murderer is if they're a murderer?_

 _When I find them, that's what I'll do. I think that they deserve justice. Even if I'm not a police officer, and I have no intention of ever being one, I'll make sure of it._

 _They're a murderer._

 _It doesn't matter if it turns out to be someone that I care about._

 _I_

 _I want it to be somebody I don't care about. I want to be this objective, unflinching and unfeeling judge with eyes that are omniscient and a conscious that's ineffably clear. Someone who'll sentence a person to the gallows without losing sleep._

 _So basically, I want to be a psychopath. Interesting aspiration, Hachiman._

 _I'm not a psychopath._

 _For one, I'm losing sleep. Source: it's 1 o'clock and I'm writing and sweating and shaking._

 _And I'm feeling._

 _A lot._

 _And it's so fucking pathetic. Feeling is the worst sensation you can ever experience, because it's out of control and it leaves you utterly helpless. I hate feeling. It's shit. Feelings just get under your skin and stay there, like a parasite, like a fucking leech on your skin, drinking you till you're empty and i just fucking hate it, i hate sitting there in the fucking service club and feeling all these things that icant control and sitting there and looking at her cause she's the service club presidetnt and shes so amazing and beautiful and perfect and sexy and i keep on thinking about how i want just bring her closer to me and kiss her and make out with her until all of these nightmares and feelings finally implode and she doesnt have to be the person whoi think killed hayamahaya_

* * *

Hachiman waits around fifteen minutes before he starts writing again.

* * *

 _I think I've quite the Service Club. I haven't turned up for a session since I spoke to Yuigahama. The way that ended is probably as good a resignation as I could hope to give, all angry and defiant, and definitely not friendly. I swear that I could hear the snap of a chord between us- a connection that had been pulled too rigid, stressed to the brink by clammed up hands and words that no one could take back or redraught. Looking at the break now, at the two separated and frayed strands, at the hopelessness of a reunion that would reverse and reverse and reverse until they were thoroughly intertwined again_

 _It looks like they couldn't be an "again". Like there was no "before". Like it just wasn't._

 _And I'm not missing anything. I'm really not. What is the Service Club, in the end? Some idealistic,_ un _realistic, not-even-really-a-thing dreamed up by a possible murderer, with an airhead of a friend who prioritises shitty fluorescent hair dye over coherent vocabulary._

 _I don't have time to worry about shit like the Service Club. I can ony worry about the girl who leads it._

 _Although if the Service Club is anything, then it's Yukinoshita Yukino. Just her, all on her own._

 _I don't want to write about Yukinoshita Yukino. I want to write about the party. But Yukinoshita is the party too._

 _Everything seems to revolve around Yukinoshita Yukino, doesn't it?_

 _Yukinoshita. Yukinoshita Yukino._

* * *

Another fifteen minutes.

* * *

 _You know what? Maybe I'm approaching this from the wrong angle. Lets forget about_ how _Yukinoshita Yukino might've killed Hayama Hayato._

 _In fact, let's just forget about Yukinoshita Yukino permanostopconcentrate YOU FUCKING MORON_

 _What I need to think about is why Yukinoshita Yukino might've killed Hayama Hayato. I already know that she had opportunity- when she want upstairs, just after Ooka had thrown up. The biggest thing I'm missing, for everyone except perhaps Miura, is a reasonable motive._

 _I originally placed Yukinoshita on a pedestal because I thought her motive was far stronger than the rest. Now, I think that her actions on the night of the party, somehow, outweigh that motive. Yes, Yukinoshita hated Hayama. Yes, I'm aware of some cataclysm in their youth, some explosion that sent them spiralling apart and I'm certainly not underestimating Yukinoshita's ability to hold a grudge. That comes from personal experience._

 _But there's this thing about the past: it's in the past. I'm right, aren't I? Sure, they have a disagreement in middle school, or about that time. Maybe it involves some dumb crush, or a shared dumb crush, and a whole lot of bitterness that became frozen and was left to be unexpressed, to always stand still. But aren't both of them clever people? Even if the wounds never left, wouldn't they have healed by the night of the part, at least a little? Wounds_ are _supposed to heal. Well not for Hayama, I guess, ha ha ha._

 _Suppose that the bitterness she thought she'd buried away was, in some way, exhumed during the party, and not just by alcohol and the game of spin the bottle._

 _The way that the bottle smashed. It was so loud._

 _I'm not convinced it was loud enough for Yukinoshita to kill him, though. Not just with the circumstance. Yukinoshita Yukino can be one of the most impenetrable people I've ever met, but she can also be unsure, and indecisive, and impressions can be strong on her. I think._

 _My hunch is that there was one more thing that happened that evening, or several more things, that I didn't see but that Yukinoshita Yukino did. This is also where my theory comes in. Going to Miura's house didn't even come close to providing me with answers, but it solidified this idea like wallpaper to the sides of my skull._

 _Yukinoshita Yukino, between 9:45 and 10:00 PM, was upstairs. Miura Yumiko didn't seem to think that she was, but she gave no proper reason why she could be outside either, and considering Tobe, Ooka and Yamato's stance, who I'd say were much more trustworthy, that's my conclusion. Unless Ebina or Yui can tell me differently, then Hayama Hayato was in the backgarden (it wouldn't make much sense if they were both outside, considering that his declaration of "I need to be alone" essentially meant he needed to avoid her), and Yukinoshita was upstairs with Kawasaki._

 _It was even darker outside on that night than inside, as you'd expect. But I'm beginning to see thing's from the perspective of Hayama: this is my theory. It's so dark in the garden, but all of the inside rooms are lit up like interrogation rooms. A person standing in the back garden can see into the kitchen- he can see Miura and Ebina and Yui and his friends, all sat in there._

 _But, if the lights in the upstairs rooms are on, then he can also see into those. They might not necessarily be able to see him, but he can see_ them _. He can see exactly what's happening when Yukinoshita Yukino and Kawasaki are upstairs. If they're interacting, they would turn the lights on. That makes perfect sense._

 _And what if he sees something that he can't see. That nobody can see._

 _Something disgusting and twisted enough to necessitate his death._

 _But what would that be? Kawasaki and Yukinoshita are hardly friends. And Kawasaki might've taken the spiked drink- she could hardly think, let alone interact with someone._

 _Unless the fact she could barely think_

 _It would probably be quite easy to take advantage of someone in that position._

 _Then again, being blind drunk doesn't always incapacitate someone. There's a chance it only makes someone more violent, or unpredictable. Is that likely, considering the state she was in when I took her upstairs?_

 _She wasn't completely asleep when I took her upstairs though. I can't make assumptions. It may not be likely, but she was still talking and moving when I dragged her upstairs._

 _I can't_

 _Yukinoshita Yukino. Once again, it's her that's the missing puzzle piece. I don't believe for a second that she'd take advantage of Kawasaki. If anything, it would be the other way round._

 _Perhaps it's just an interaction, not a fight or anything dramatic, that Hayama sees. Just the two of them talking._

 _Either way, it would explain why she goes upstairs later in the evening. First of all, she goes to the left, as Miura said, and she cuts Hayama's wrists and stabs him in the heart, and she leaves him in the spare bedroom as if he'd killed himself, and then she goes to the left, to Kawasaki, and she confronts her over whatever it is that requires a confrontation. But_ just _a confrontation. What Hayama sees isn't enough for her to have to kill Kawasaki too._

 _But even in this, my most likely theory so far, which isn't really saying much- there are holes._

 _1\. Why does Kawasaki keep what happened a secret? If Yukinoshita has taken advantage of her in some way, then she has no reason to stay silent._

 _Unless it hurts her in some way. If she was directly involved-_ that _would give her a reason to stay silent. She's ashamed, and she hates herself for it. Enough to hurt herself._

 _But I don't believe she could do it._

 _Maybe I should be more open minded._

 _2\. Hayama Hayato wasn't captain of the soccer team for nothing. He's bigger and stronger than anybody at that party. I'd prreviously disregarded this, under the presumption that the murderer simply took him by surprise._

 _This still isn't impossible. Sneaking up on someone isn't hard, if you really need to do it. But it's a risk. If he realises, and there's a struggle of any kind, then I'd be willing to bet who would come out on top._

 _But if there's two people. If more than one person are involved in this. Then, if they take him by surprise, I wouldn't be so sure._

 _Well there it is. My brilliant, fantastic, Sherlock worthy theory._

 _And guess what? It's got me absolutely nowhere._

* * *

Hachiman pauses, hand still wrapped around the pen. It's not just his fingers that are tired.

He grunts, shoves the pen away from him. A sudden burst of wind from the open window ruffles his hair, and the autumn moonlight follows it, gently combing through the matted, unwashed knots, and then coming to rest on the colourlessness of the ceiling.

"What the fuck is even the point..."

His phone vibrates on the table.

He lifts his head tiredly and stares at the flashing screen, bemused. It was past one o'clock, nearly two, and someone else in the very small group that he'd deem acquaintances was also awake, and feeling the urge to text him?

His staring continues even after the vibrating dies away. The memory chips away at him, of the last time he was interrupted while writing, the memory of Yukinoshita and their strained phone call over the notebook page, which remains folded and pinned to the wall above his desk. This time, however, Hachiman knows there's a far more likely culprit for whose texting him. As if the Ice Queen would waste any of her _beautiful_ slumber.

Finally, he reaches over and grabs his phone.

 _Unknown Number: U awake? This is Miura_

 _Hachiman: How the fuck are you texting me? I didn't give you my number._

 _Miura: I got it from Yui on Wednesday_

 _Hachiman: How?_

 _Miura: checked on her phone while she wasn't looking, I like know her lock code_

 _Hachiman: You either know her lock code or you don't know it. There's no inbetween._

She doesn't reply immediately, and Hachiman can't quite decide whether it's suspicious that she felt the need to go to such lengths, or just plain disturbing, or maybe even both.

 _Hachiman: You didn't need to do that. We could just talk at school._

 _Miura: it would be weirder if we talked school, I'd rather just text u_

 _Hachiman: Well it's definitely not weird to see you on your phone, so I can't disagree with you._

 _Miura: did u seriously just crack a joke Hikio_

It felt odd to even type.

 _Hachiman: I suppose I did._

 _Miura: aren't u a funny guy_

 _Hachiman: No one else seems like they want to._

 _Miura: ur not a fuckin martyr Hikio_

 _Hachiman: It's "you're", not "ur". It should also be capitalised, and I'm sorry if I don't like being woken up at 2 in the morning._

Another pause between their texts.

 _Miura: did you actually get to sleep tonight then, thats good_

"No," he mutters, even while typing the opposite.

 _Miura: i didn't, obviously_

 _Hachiman: Texting me isn't going to help._

 _Miura: well I tried going to sleep, and that didn't help either_

 _Hachiman: Now you're the one cracking jokes._

An even longer pause between texts, with both of their fingers advancing on the keys, before retreating again.

 _Hachiman: Goodnight, Miura Yumiko._

 _Miura: nite Hikio_

He puts his phone down, wondering if it will be the last exchange of that kind between him and Miura.

* * *

 _Yukinoshita Yukino's motive._

 _I need to know it, if there is one. Hopefully, one that will explain her movements upstairs after 10 PM. There's a very large and portruding wall in the way of getting that explanation, however, and I shouldn't even have to write it out. As if she'll consider talking to me in any respect, let alone in regards to the party._

 _She probably knows that I think she killed Hayama at this point._

 _She probably knew from the moment we had that phone call._

 _She's a secretive person. She has very few friends, or people she'd willingly spend time, and the circle of people she'd confide in is even smaller. Yuigahama: that's our one mutual connection, but thanks to Yours fucking Truly, that bridge has been thoroughly burned. They're much closer friends than me, and I know full well how much they value that friendship._

 _Her family is off limits too._

 _I mean_

 _Her parents ar_

 _There's no way I can do that. Knowing that bitch, she'd probably spout it out to everybody within a mile radius_

 _Fuck it. It's not like I have any options._

 _Get this. For the first time in my fucking life, I'm going to have to actively seek out Yukinoshita Haruno._

 _can't wait_


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Hope you enjoy the new update- Haruno's a great character to write, especially when she goes hand in hand with 8man. Keep reviewing/favouriting, as the next chapter will be the penultimate (excluding Epiloque) and most of the big clues are already written in.**

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter Eight:**

Family is one of those oddities- one of the tangles that will probably never be wholly unravelled, because it is a tangle of a thousand variants felt with a stunningly acute difference between two people. It's an oddity that can be blissful, or dysfunctional, or only slightly blissful or only slightly dysfunctional and so on and so forth, and Hachiman need only look at his own to know that.

Typically, he would say that his experiences with the ins and outs of a family were washed up somewhere in the middle. It can feel like he doesn't have a family at all, and it can also feel awfully small, barely large enough to see, and with Komachi very much in the process of being ignored, the house his "family" is supposed to live in feels even smaller. Imploding, as if the skin of the rooms were peeling and fluttering off on the dust, and open blood vessels were clotting and drying out.

He can hear Komachi right now. In his mind- she always gets back home before him, though thanks to his rejoining of the Go-Home-Early-Club, he's making his way back home with an extra hour to add to his Monday evening. She'd spend weekends outside with her friends, or going to shopping malls or sleeping over at their houses, but if she _is_ home with him, then he will inevitably know. She has a habit, perhaps unintentionally, of making everyone nearby absolutely aware of her presence. The humming of a pop song that Hachiman have definitely heard from Miura's portable karaoke machine. The sound of her chatting on her phone as loudly as physically possible. The crash of frantic rushing up and down the stairs for whatever reason merited her being frantic.

Usually him, in some respect.

Imagining the Yukinoshita household ushers him towards an image uncanny in its similarity. Yukinoshita Haruno in perpetual motion around their house- the activity itself wouldn't matter so much, as long as she was, in some way, occupying. Turning the eyes of everybody in the room, inflating it with the impossible noise of this immaculate child, this princess-like protegee, and then princess-like teenager and then adult. All the while, as the magnificent circus personally conducted by her sister raged on, Yukinoshita Yukino would sit and watch, partly hateful and partly loving. Probably reading her favourite copy of Pan-san the Panda, and only truly observing when it suited her.

 _Or when it suited her parents,_ Hachiman supposes.

They responded to it so differently. To the expectation that their futures were not so much _their_ future as the family's future. Yukinoshita Haruno, pursuing and pursuing and impressing and impressing, as pathetically insaitable as the parents themselves. And then you have Yukinoshita. On the other hand, it's made them alike in being the most intimidating people that he's ever met.

Hachiman still can't believe that he's willingly set up a meeting with the older of the sisters. It happened far too quickly, far too easily, for him to be comfortable with. He only had to type in Haruno's name to uncover about a dozen accounts on every social media website imaginable, and even a mention of an "upcoming musical talent" in the local newspaper. Yukino had none, and probably didn't know half of the websites existed, let alone how to register with them.

Luckily, Hachiman is not quite as technologically inept. He downloaded Instagram, something which at some point he'd sworn never to stoop so low as to do, and requested to follow her. She accepted within minutes and, perhaps predictably, it was her who sent the first message.

 _Haruno: Wow, I never thought the day would come! The King of Loners on Insta :P_

 _Hachiman: Believe me, I would be avoiding this if it were at all possible._

 _Haruno: Very mysterious- just what I've come to expect from you :) And I have to say I'm flattered you'd come out of online hermitism just for me._

 _Hachiman: It's not for the reason you're implying._

 _Haruno: Probably a good thing, you're incredibly handsome Mr, but I'm not the cheap kind of girl ;)_

 _Hachiman: I see the affliction of using emojis in every sentence has reached you too._

 _Haruno: Do I have something to be worried about, Hikigaya-kun?_

The abrupt change in tone had stood out to him at the time, and glancing back now, it unnerved him all the more.

 _Hachiman: Not you, no._

 _Haruno: Then maybe you could use a different app to pick up girls? Tinder usually does nicely :)_

 _Hachiman: I told you it isn't that. If it's alright, I'd like to talk to you about your sister._

 _Haruno: What about my little Yuki-chan? Has she done something wrong?_

 _Hachiman: That's why I'd like to talk to you._

 _Haruno: We'll talk tomorrow._

 _Hachiman: When?_

She hadn't sent another message after that. Perhaps she'd found another toy to play with.

This Monday had been strange enough for Hachiman even without his "talk" with Haruno looming over him. In its day to day specifics, its happenings, not much had differed, but he was struck by an unassailable notion that somewhere, a cloud had cleared. No- not cleared, shifted. Changed. He still can't place it as he walks away from the Sobu High gates. His most fathomable suspicion is Miura, as he knows for a fact that with her, there _has_ been a change, and the few times they found themselves looking in homeroom or lesson time, he knew it better. It wasn't the looking of friends, but the looking of two impossible idiots who'd realised their idiocy was mutual.

He knows he will have to rely on Miura Yumiko. Not the kind of reliance that he would seek in Komachi; searching for that kind of reliance in anyone, at least until he can sleep peacefully again, is like searching for a clothing line blown off in a hurricane. He needs her because he also needs to talk to Ebina. Once he can say goodbye to Haruno, preferably for the final time, then realistically she will be the only guest left that could tell him something new. The Service Club wouldn't tell him the time of day.

It has, of course, occured to him that he has missed something. More than that. He is afraid. Afraid that he has already seen or heard the truth that he needs to see or hear above anything. That one of the guests he's spoken to told him something that would provide the answer, but phrased it in a way too vague, too hastily painted over for him to appreciate.

At this stage, he wouldn't be surprised if they _all_ knew the answer, and were just teasing him. Dangling it above his head like worms on a fishing hook.

There isn't much hope of winning of a game if the sides are as unbalanced as nine to one.

Hachiman shakes his head. _How the hell is thinking like that going to help?_ The streets to his house are rambling as he walks on by, the same theme without a variation to accompany it, and he's just another figure in the frame. The date hasn't been checked in awhile, but August has definitely been the month for years upon years, and each day of this month has the identical overcast corpse of a sky and the identical bruise of a rainstorm that risks peetering out before it has begun, only to almost begin a couple of minutes later.

The puddles only seem to be deepening as he turns onto his street, and he pulls his blazer tighter against his frame, searching for a reprieve from the decaying autumn weather. He follows the line of cold, steel cars, seeing their regularity and recognising them absently as ones he always sees along the street, but as his drive comes into sight he notices a vehicle utterly unlike the rest in the orderly queue. A long, white limousine that stands out like the blade of a knife in the sun, and it doesn't take him long to recognise its owner.

He breaks into a run until he is standing at the foot of his drive. He can already see her- Yukinoshita Haruno, sitting in his front room with her back to him, clear in the glass windows. Komachi is stood in front of her, and he watches as their lips move, silent and empty of words.

Hachiman swears loudly. Now that she's there, making herself at home in _his_ home- apparently with a cup of tea- it seems painstakingly clear that Haruno would do something like this. She would never allow someone like him to speak with her on equal terms, especially on a matter which, he can't deny, could not be more personal to her. Now, he has to be hospitable, because she's a guest- she's special, her position elevated even higher than her habitual self-importance would have you assume. When has she ever had _anything_ but her own agenda, and what's more, when has she ever abided by any agenda other than that?

He is probably a fool to bring this upon himself.

Komachi has noticed that he is here. She blinks, and murmurs silently to Haruno, who turns to him and waves with an unsettling cheer, beaming, both of them encased there like characters in a silent film.

He doesn't wave back.

After a pause just a flicker too long, Hachiman breathes in, and heads towards the front door, pushing it open. He hopes intent will hide the nerves in his belly- nerves typical of his previous encounters with Yukinoshita Haruno, where somehow or other he has always been made to look like the idiot that he very much is. A teenager without a clue what they are doing.

But there is also a hint of something else. The same stony determination. The one that, since the party, has clung to him like a second shadow. He knows the kind of games that she likes to play- her little strategies and tricks, and methods and innuendos to catch him offguard. Play with someone too long, and they're bound to pick up on them eventually. This time, he feels that his own agenda will match hers.

Stepping in, he can already hear their voices.

"-oh don't worry! Any frriend of Hikigaya-kun is a friend of mine."

"Well, we're a little more than friends Haruno-san, but yeah. Onii-chan doesn't seem to have... uh... to have many friends lately. Or ever really, so it's nice that someone's paying attention."

"We shouldn't talk about someone whose in earshot, it's _so_ rude of us-"

"What was that?" Hikigaya interrupts. He hasn't been in his living room recently, and though the sight of the TV and electric kokatsu call memories of wasted weeknights reading light novels, the sight of Haruno and Komachi in the same room is more than enough to send them scuttling away again.

Haruno stands up. She's wearing the kind of clothes that he'd come to expect- a stylish white leather jacket which stops just high enough to show the curves of her hips, themselves underlined in a pair of deep blue jeans that are somehow expensively shabby, torn at the hems and just above the knees. In short, as beautiful and voluptuous as ever. She smiles her smile, the charming one tailor made for teenage boys who know no better.

She really does look like Yukinoshita Yukino.

"Afternoon, Hikigaya-kun! Sorry I'm so early- I got here and you weren't here, but your cute little imouto was! We had a good time, didn't we Komachi?"

"Yep!" she says brightly, though her eyes are focused on Hachiman and unremittingly dull.

"Early implies that we'd organised a time. What you're actually saying is you invited yourself ove-"

She waves his protestation away. "We said that we'd meet up, didn't we? Two people as close as we are probably past the stage of invitation- aren't you going to say hello to your imouto too?"

He'd opened his mouth part way through, but Haruno had ploughed past without letting him. He has only glanced at Komachi so far, but what would a glance tell him other than things he has known for years? She will still be wearing her school uniform because she's too lazy to change. She might have a dark stain around her mouth from raiding the sweet cupboard as soon as she got back, and her arms will be crossed, because that's what she always does when she's annoyed with him.

He glances anyway, and surprise surprise, all three of his assumptions were true.

"Afternoon, Komachi."

"Afternoon, Hachiman."

"How was school?"

"Alrigh'."

Hachiman looks back to Haruno, and her eyes are glistening with silent laughter. Or maybe it's just the lighting in his living room. It always was too bright.

Yukino's sister stretches nonchalantly. "I don't mean to be rude, but do you think it would be okay if me and your dear brother had some alone time? We may need a little privacy..." She winks suggestively, and he almost vomits.

"Are you sure?" Komachi seems doubtful, and remarkably unfazed by the innuendo. "I'd rather be here if he was rude to you. Of if he just plain assaulted you. Either's likely-"

"I thought I was a sis-con, _Komachi._ Wouldn't that mean I was only attracted to yo-"

"Your concern is very much appreciated, but I'm sure I can handle Hikigaya-san in both respects."

Haruno's smile is still wide as Komachi, after a moment's hesitation, begins making her way out of the room. She hesitates again when she steps past him, and then again, pausing under the frame of the door, and perhaps again outside, regular, like the beating, the pace of his heartbeat.

He turns back to Haruno, and she is taking off her white leather jacket, leaving her in a sleeveless crop top that couldn't be described as subtle. He wonders how often she's used that trick, and how often it's worked; how often every pair of male eyes in a room has been subverted in an instant. Men are predictable when it comes to a woman's more feminine assets, but Hachiman finds himself imagining the top if it were on someone different. Close, but younger. His own age.

Once she's finished stretching, which surely took longer than was necessary, she does something that he's never wanted to see from anyone but Komachi.

"Am I doing this right?" She moves her fist back to her side, but Hachiman is far too shocked seeing his sister's infamous headbonk to respond immediately. "She mentioned that was a bit of an, ah, ongoing joke."

"Her points tally has never been lower for telling you about it."

She laughs loudly. "She also mentioned that! God, you're both so funny, Hikigaya-san. Siblings are so alike when it come down to it."

"I could say the same for yo-"

"-I mean, there's the hair. Your sense of humour, as we just mentioned. And your personalities! She's good at hiding it, but I honestly think she could be just as cynical as you if the situation aro-"

"Is that supposed to be a complime-"

"-Am I ever going to meet your parents too? That would really put the cherry on top. Four little Hikigaya-sans, all lined up in a row-"

"Are you sure you know the basic principles of a conversation? There's supposed to be two people involved."

She shrugs. "Oh, I've always been a liberal in my approach to them."

"Of cours-"

"Are you willing to have a conversation with me, Hikigaya-san?"

"... _Yes._ That's why you're here, isn't it?"

"Supposedly. But another basic principle of conversation is communication, and you've never been particularly good at that."

He takes it in his stride. "We're probably alike in that respect."

"How so?"

"All you do is talk in riddles that never have an answer-"

"Riddles _always_ have an answer, Hikigaya-san. It all depends on the person trying to solve it." She takes a step closer, her eyes glinting even brighter. Dangerously, even. "Are they determined enough? How much do they really want it? Is the answer even worth finding?"

He glares at her for a moment, and takes a step closer too.

"If it's a good enough riddle, the answer is _always_ worth finding. That's the truth."

"Truth, huh?" She blinks. How is it possible for that smile to get _wider_? "That's what it's all about in the end, isn't it Hikigaya-san? _Truth._ "

"Yes."

"Interesting."

"How is it interesting, Yukinoshita-san?"

"Well, truth is pretty liberal too. Flexible, I suppose. Truth can be very, very different between two people. It was only a few hundred years ago that everyone believed the world was flat."

"The world isn't flat, Yukinoshita-san. It's round."

She giggles. "I can't deny you that, Hikigaya-san. But _you_ can't deny that it's interesting."

"Does your sister find it interesting, too?"

And just like that, the switch is flipped. The smile and the glisten is gone. Yukinoshita Haruno stands in front of him, and her face is colder than Yukino's has ever been.

She leans into his ear. "Do you want to fuck my sister, Hikigaya-san?"

He makes himself stay in control. "What do you mean?"

"I couldn't really be any plainer, Hikigaya-san. I'm doing what you wanted. I'm throwing out the riddles, and I'm asking you this: do you want to fuck my sister?"

"Yukinoshita Yukino was my friend."

"Was?"

"In case you didn't know, I've left the Service Club-"

"Oh I know, Hikigaya-san. My sister tells me more than you think. She was quite upset over that, if I remember rightly."

"I'm not sure you understa-"

"How about me, Hikigaya-san? Do you want to fuck me, instead?"

He laughs out loud. "I couldn't say possibly 'no' any firmer."

"Then perhaps you want to murder my imouto? Or maybe just murder me? Or, how about both of us, Hikigaya-san? Maybe this is a question in semantics: maybe you want to fuck _and_ murder us. Or maybe you want to fuck my sister, but only murder me, or the other way round, or maybe you only want to fuck me or my sister after you've killed us-"

"This is my house, Yukinoshita-san."

"..."

"This is my house, not yours. I don't care about your money, or your family. Not while you're here. Not in my house. You have no right to say those things to somebody whose let you into the place they live."

Her finger twitches. Her face remains cold.

"Then how about we cut a deal: your stay out of _my_ house, and I leave _your's_ alone."

"I can't do that, Yukinoshita-san."

"And why is that, Hikigaya-san?"

"... There are..." He pauses to collect the wounded rags of his breath. "There are... a lot of riddles. A lot of riddles, or ongoing jokes, or... or whatever you want to call them. And there aren't any answers to any of them."

She stares at him.

"... Don't you get it?" Hachiman shakes his head. "There aren't any answers to any of them."

He isn't looking at her anymore. Yukinoshita Haruno hasn't said anything for almost a minute, and in the hush Hachiman has realised that his arms are shaking a little, like after-quakes, tremours left behind in the rampaging wreck of a disaster. And yet the woman in front of him is still calm. She's standing untouched, as if the shaking, the ruin of these people's lives, had scarcely occured to her.

 _How is she still calm? How is anyone?_

"You're a moron."

He breathes out. "Maybe I am. Does it make any difference?"

"Yes, because you're a moron."

"Alright."

"..." She grinds her teeth. "You're even more of a moron if you don't ask me why."

"I'm allowed to ask questions now?"

"Depends if the question is as moronic as you are-"

" _I get it,_ Haruno. I'm a moron. No one in the world is as clever as you. I get it, okay?"

"That wasn't what I said. That's the thing about you, Hikigaya-san. All you ever do is talk and think and monologue. You never actually listen."

"..."

"If you won't ask me a question, then I'll ask you one."

"... Alright."

"Do you really, _seriously,_ think that my sister is a murderer?"

"..."

"I'll ask you again. Do you think that my sister is a murderer?"

He looks at her, for the trick, for the lie. None.

"Since we've started talking, you haven't answered a single one of my questions, Hikigaya-san. Not truthfully at least, and to be frank, my patience with you is wearing very thin indeed. I will ask you one more time: do you think that my sister is a murderer?"

"... I think that she could be."

And this time, she really does laugh. Properly, for the first time since Hachiman met her.

"What sort've an answer is that, Hikigaya-san? My sister can't even say no to her _parents._ "

"..."

Yukinoshita Haruno turns around and returns to where she'd been sitting. She picks up her white leather jacket and puts it on once more, as if the conversation was as mundane as asking for an opinion on the weather.

Hachiman is not blind. There are still questions of his own that need asking.

"Was Yukinoshita arranged to be married to him?"

She says nothing, but moves past him towards the door.

"Was Hayama in love with her?"

She chuckles coldly under her breath. Hachiman curses and follows her out into the hallway. He watches as she arrives at the front door and opens it.

"Please give me an answer. To one of them, or just... just to _something._ I'll never talk to you again if you do."

She stops, and the trembling in his hand follows suit.

Haruno twists her head back round. "That's not the problem, Hikigaya-san. If I don't want to talk to you, then you won't. I'm more worried about my sister."

"Then I promise that I'll never talk to _her_ again."

She's silent for so long, it feels like a wound.

A sigh.

"Then yes."

She begins closing the door.

"... Yes to which questio-"

Yukinoshita Haruno shuts the door. No less than a minute later, he hears the sound of a car reversing, and then driving away. It rides through a puddle on its way.

The trembling begins again straight after. It spreads. It was just his arms, but now, it shudders down to his hands and jutters the bones of his fingers, and somehow it reaches his legs and he leans against the wall. Hachiman brings his hands to his face and rubs his eyes and his cheeks, hoping it will soothe them a little. It does; either that, or he'd prefer to think that it does.

"... Onii-chan."

He doesn't bother acknowledging his sister's presence on the staircase.

"You were listening, weren't you?"

"I didn't have to. You were shouting loud enough."

He doesn't bother replying either. Hikigaya Hachiman just stands there- considering.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Just a few edits/plot clarifications to make. Ebina's conversation is pretty much exactly the same, though I added in a few more dialogue breaks and did some general proof reading. One changed element is a mistake I made: Ebina DID NOT return to the kitchen after leaving it between 9:45 and around 10:10 with tissues for Miura from the downstairs bathroom. Instead, she returned emptyhanded. Yui, however, DID return with a towel as specified.**

 **As to the layout of the house, I realised a couple of elements about windows were left unspecified in the text, mostly because I thought it would be self-explanatory but after reading back I realised readers wouldn't have any reason to assume so. If one were to stand in the back garden and they were far away enough, they would be able to see into all the rooms with windows facing the back garden if the light was sufficient, which includes Miura's bedroom, the spare bedroom, the upstairs bathroom (all these rooms are upstairs) and the kitchen (downstairs). This IS mentioned in Hachiman's theories but I just wanted to clarify.**

 **The rooms with windows that would look out into the front drive would be the front room and sitting room (downstairs) and the upstairs bedrooms excluding Miura's and the spare one, where Hayama was discovered. Sorry if this wasn't clear originally.**

* * *

 _"I'll do anything for you..."_

 _"Kill anyone for you..."_

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter Nine:**

 _Once again, I've been presented with the fantastic reassurance of taking one step forward and two steps back. An answer can never be singularly an answer- it's always an answer with a question, or an answer with two questions, and this time an answer to a question that isn't clear. It isn't just Haruno responsible for that, and it isn't just Yukinoshita Yukino, the Service Club or Miura Yumiko either. Oh no. Again, it's mostly just me that's to blame._

 _I knew I wouldn't get a clear answer. There wasn't really any hope of that. Going to Haruno was a last resort, or something close to that. Almost everything I've done, everything I've undertaken over the past few weeks has been fruitless. I've ploughed and planted and still nothing has grown, nothing that I'd_ want _to be growing anyway, and I know that I can't just curse and spit at the ground anymore. Somehow, I've planted the wrong seed, and I've planted it again, and then once more because I'm too much of a fool to see the fault, and it has borne absolutely nothing, except this ocean of weeds snaring my neck._

 _Even so, I can't help but hate her. Yukinoshita Haruno makes it so, so easy for you to do that. Hate her. She only really affirmed qualities that I already knew she possessed. I was already aware that was the kind of person she was. Does that excuse her from my hatred? Absolutely not. I'm against the assumption that a person cannot change. Many times I've heard this kind of crap spouted: "Oh, that's just the way they are, there's nothing anyone can do to change that"._

 _Like I said, that's crap. Yukinoshita Haruno may have every reason to be that way. Maybe her and her sister's parents really_ are _the nightmares I've begun to associate them with. But there is still one person in Haruno's life, one person only, who could make the choice to be different. Who could make the choice to be humble, and to be honest, and to treat people with the kindness they deserve._

 _I know those none of those qualities belong to me._

 _Maybe that's partly why I hate her so much. Seeing how your own actions are when carried out by another- it makes them all the more sickening._

 _I've begun to dehumanise people, somehow. I've begun seeing people as if they're insects that, despite doing nothing but cowering away in a corner, nothing but avoiding me, are somehow calling to be trampled on. I've imagined them as boxes to tick. Objects to be manipulated. I've thought or written of them like that before. If I skipped back through this fucking notebook, I know that I'd see it._

 _It doesn't surprise me. I've wished for it. I've told myself that it's easier, and I still think that. That a conscience doesn't help me and seeing Haruno, Yukino, Yuigahama, Miura, Kawasaki as insects definitely_ does _help me._

 _I can't have it both ways. I can't long for a conscience after I've willed it away._

 _Why couldn't she just have given me a straight answerno that's stupid Hachiman that's a question you actually know the answer to. Yukinoshita Yukino._

 _Huh. Another truth about herself which she probably unintentionally affirmed: Haruno really does love her sibling._

 _She came to my house with every intention of putting me in my place. She took every step in her power to take that would help her in that aim. She refused to clarify a time to meet so that when the meeting did_ _take place it would be on her own whim. She tried to unhinge me by coming into my house, and talking to my sister who she knows I love more than anything which is embarrassing to write but it's fucking true so I don't care, and talking_ about _me to my sister when she knew I could hear and when she knew it would bother me. She dressed provocatively because obviously I'm just a teenage boy and the sight of a beautiful girl with her cleavage out wouldn't just make me see her as the promiscuous slut that she is, no, obviously I'd be so distracted that she could just steamroll me, as always._

 _I didn't let her do it this time. Distract me. Unbalance me. Only the people that I love can do that, like Komachi an_

 _I didn't let her do it. For a brief period, for the first time, I think that I was winning. I made myself look absolutely anywhere but her chest and I concentrated on her words, because no matter how bulletproof they're made out to be I knew that there had to be a bend or a crack somewhere, and if I fired a round with a flawless accuracy, and I hit it there,_ there _, then I could do the same to her that she was trying to do to me. No person is bulletproof. Definitely not Yukinoshita Yukino. Because of that, neither is Yukinoshita Haruno._

 _And I was right. It was when we finally dispensed with innuendo. When I finally told her what I thought_

 _No. What I think. Not thought._

 _When I finally told her what I think- that Yukinoshita Yukino is responsible. That was when she changed, and proved me right. That no one is bulletproof._

 _I suppose it's appropriate that the only time I've made her loose control was when I truly, genuinely, overstepped the line. The only emotion I've ever seen her display_ any _kind of tendency towards is anger, and here that anger was completely justified. I don't have any proof that her sister is responsible. I have no right to even be thinking it, other than a contrived web of "intuition", baseless, nothing._

 _But there is a reason, I think, that Haruno decided to come. I think that there is a reason why she felt the need to manipulate me at all. Siblings are locked to each other, attuned, like ammeters to electric current, and siblings can always tell, no matter how it's hidden, because they can't help it. They can just see. If a single lock of hair is blown aside in the wind, a sibling could probably notice. If they arrived home more than a second too late or early, they would_ definitely _notice. They see everything._

 _I think that Yukinoshita Haruno was worried, far beyond prevention or control, and hearing her own doubts voiced, no matter how far I blew them out of proportion, was more than enough. I could've been far more subtle and received much the same reaction._

 _She asked me a question of her own, too. Do you really, seriously, think that my sister is a murderer?_

 _I can't just take that question the way it appears to be. It could be mocking. At face value, she doesn't think there's a chance on earth that her sister could murder someone. A girl who, according to her, cannot even say no to her parents. She's mocking me for thinking that it's possible, let alone thinking it likely._

 _It could also, almost, be a question to herself- not just to me._

 _Yukinoshita Haruno really loves her sister, and no one wants to think the worst of their sibling._

 _The President of the Service Club._

 _I keep trying new roads. New paths. I'll follow one, and the trail will be winding, and the light will be darkened by walls of branches and trees, but I'll keep going. Going, until eventually, I end up right back where I started._

 _Every path leads back to her._

 _And now, I have a motive. Two motives, really. I suppose it never occured to me that Yukino might be a victim of something as antiquated as an arranged marriage. It really is a figment of the medieval. A little whisper that got caught; a torid little freedom-ripping echo that never quite faded away. Families like the Yukinoshitas are old. Old traditions don't die. They have a way of clinging onto life against the dictation of all sanity and logic._

 _Hayama Hayato was a person that she categorically hated. His treatment of her in the past (whatever that actually fucking was) is enough for her to avoid him, to avoid so much as_ talking _about him, and yet one day you're told that there's this signature, written on a stupid piece of paper before you were even born, that's been hanging over you your whole life without the slightest premonition that it might be hanging there occuring to you. You're being told that, all of a sudden, the time that you're going to have to spend in this fucking shithead's company is going to drastically increase. For a long, long time._

 _It would drive me crazy._

 _I think I could kill someone over that._

 _I thank that would be enough._

 _That would be enough to kill someone, wouldn't it_

 _I'd be killing to save myself. It would be a quick cut, a quick piercing of flesh, and then the problem goes away. The echo can finally fade, as it's deserved too for a long time. It's dark in that room, so you wouldn't be able to see the blood all that clearly, and you can make it seem so very very unlike it was me who was responsible. You could forget the blood had even bled, in time._

 _Or maybe you couldn't. Maybe it would just make you terrified. Afraid, of you, yourself. Enough to write about i_

* * *

Hikigaya Hachiman drops his pen midsentence. He looks up at the wall in front of his desk, reaches over and grabs the note that he'd stolen from her. He wants to sleep tonight- he's writing before just before 9PM, just before you should start to consider that it's late, well after Yukinoshita Haruno left him. He's had the time to process what happened. To try and understand it better.

The words feel old now, like ancient hieroglyphics. Was it really so recently that he'd read them for the first time?

* * *

 _"What is the hope in escaping something that grows with the fervour and constancy of death? Certainly that fear has increased of late. The realisation"_

 _Those were all things that she wrote herself. Yukinoshita Yukino. And she never finished her sentence at the end._

 _The realisation_

 _Why couldn't that fucking idiot have just finished her sentence? Everytime I look at it, that sentence's staggering imperfection, its fucking incompleteness, looks at me right back. I've asked how it ended so many times now._

 _How does this end at all_

 _No. I know how this ends. It ends with the truth._

 _But until then, until that ending, I have questions._

 _There are never enough questions for the Service Club president._

 _Alright._

 _Yukinoshita Yukino is a murderer. This is the theory. Let's walk through it. The why and how._

 _Why: to escape from an arranged marriage to someone she hated, and (subconsciously?) because she still despised him for his actions in middle school._

 _How: impulsive. At around 9:35 PM, Miura Yumiko breaks a glass bottle on the table, providing her with a murder weapon which she picks up in the confusion afterwards. Due to her being upstairs between 9:45 to, at the most, 10:15 PM, and Hayama outside, it seems unlikely that she might have recovered a piece of the glass from the trash after Ebina had dumped it without knowing it was put, and without anyone seeing or arousing suspicion. At around 11:00 PM, she goes upstairs for the second time and kills Hayato in the spare bedroom, taking him by surprise, and frames it as a suicide. She has been spurred on by alcohol and the previous spin the bottle incident, which had only reminded her of her future with him. Now, that future has been averted, and she can return to her pretty little existence in peace._

 _Swings and roundabouts._

 _Only there's this one, huge, mindstabbing loose end. Kawasaki Saki. That Yukinoshita felt it necessary to go into Miura's bedroom after turning right at the top of the stairs is enough for me to assume that she changed things. That she needed to be accounted for._

 _But Yukinoshita didn't just go upstairs once. She went upstairs twice, once after the game of spin the bottle, when Miura and the rest were in the kitchen, and then again at around 11PM, presumably to murder Hayama._

 _If Kawasaki is a problem for her on the night of the party, enough to go into Miura's bedroom after she'd murdered and risk someone else seeing her upstairs, then it suggests there's a link. That definitively there_ was _an encounter between them, perhaps between 9:45 PM and 10PM, that Hayama could've seen from his place in the back garden._

 _There's another possibility- that the fact she was upstairs between 9:45 PM and 10PM and that Hayama was outside at the same time is purely coincidental. It's possible that Hayama really didn't see anything while he was in the back garden. Instead, Hayama simply came back inside and made his way upstairs, finally arriving in the spare bedroom around 11PM, and this when he was murdered by Yukino, purely in order to avoid their arranged marriage._

 _If the latter were true, then the reason for her going into Miura's bedroom and confronting Kawasaki would be to pursue the chance that she overhead something. They were on the same floor, and so the noise from the karaoke machine below them wouldn't have muffled noise in the way it did us. She threatens Kawasaki, and because she's that drunk the signifiance of what's taken place doesn't register. Then, Yukino returns to the party as if everything is normal._

 _When Kawasaki wakes up the next day, and remembers what happened, it's already too late to change anything._

 _Only it wouldn't be too late, because she could tell someone. That's why that isn't the truth. Kawasaki is a clever girl. She has no reason to keep the knowledge to herself. She'd know to tell someone in spite of Yukino's threats, because what could she do to her if everyone knew that she was a murderer?_

 _The only reason I can see for her_ not _to tell anybody would be because she thought no one would believe her._

 _But she wouldn't be telling her parents, or her teachers. She'd be telling the police, on the subject of a murder case. They'd have to take that seriously. No matter how clearly it looked like Hayama committed suicide._

 _I don't believe that Kawasaki would stay silent. Even if it wasn't the police didn't believe her, I think that she'd tell someone else and then someone else until they believed the truth. Kawasaki is a loner, yes, but she is not an idiot._

 _You know something?_

 _It isn't the murder that scares me about this the most. It isn't the fact that some sick, disgusting person has got away with a cold blooded murder._

 _It's how it's affected the people who knew him._

 _And not just his friends. Not just the people who might've loved him. It's also the people who hated him._

 _Kawasaki Saki is a stronger person than me. I sincerely believe that. She is independent, and she deals with loneliness far better than I ever have. But if internalising, if keeping something to herself would hurt that much and that noticeably, then I can't see why she would continue the way she has. This is not the same as earning money for tuition, or harbouring an adolescent crush from your parents. This is something so much bigger, and she would understand that._

 _Then let's say it's not just that she witnessed something, or overheard an exchange or a murder or anything at all. Let's say that she did something, almost by accident, that she didn't quite comprehend, but that she can all too clearly comprehend when the blur has passed._

 _Guilt for what you've done. Hatred for it. And on top of that, you can't tell anyone, because directly or indirectly, you will be involved in a murder._

 _Then, I can see why you'd keep a secret._

 _Then I can see why you wouldn't sleep, and why you'd etch scars into your skin._

 _Do I have proof for any of this? Of course not. There's no proof for anything._

 _But even my theories don't make full sense. If Kawasaki is responsible, then where does Yukino become connect? If Yukino is responsible, where does Kawasaki?_

 _I'm at a crossroads with only one turning._

 _Really, this is it. If I don't find something new from this, then the only thing I'll be able to do is turn back._

* * *

For the first time in all the hours he's spent writing, Hachiman closes the notebook with a certainty. With a clarity that he'd achieved what he wanted.

The pages are not at all orderly. They're a swell of ink, a penned whirlpool blown up in a storm, all curved corners and smudged margins, and they've been turned too quickly and too often, and they're wrinkled and cut and inelligible to anyone but him. The same is true of the ones he's just written, yet it has the unmerited illusion of order. Oddly, it seems to Hachiman as if he has composed this with the intense care of a mother to a child, and where it bleeds from stress and writes of the tearing seams of his mind it doesn't matter. They're not a sign of how irretrievable his gorgeously ignorant adolescence is- they're just a little red bow tied in a child's hair. A little adornment to complete the work.

Perhaps because there is so little left that he can do, Hachiman feels close to satisfied. At least now, he knows precisely how to move forward.

Alternatively, he's just pretending that he hasn't reached a depth more absolute and desperate than any which preceded it.

 _Hachiman: Are you awake?_

 _Miura: yh_

 _Hachiman: Can I ask you for a favour?_

 _Miura: no_

 _Hachiman: Why not?_

 _Miura: Cause ur idea of a favour isnt like anyone elses_

 _Hachiman: I don't know what you mean._

 _Miura: I mean that ur last favour ended up in me crying and nearly asking u to leave_

 _Hachiman: I know, and I'm sorry for that._

He waits for a response, which she doesn't give.

 _Hachiman: I said I was sorry at the time, and I still am._

 _Miura: wat do u want hikio_

 _Hachiman: I thought you were saying no?_

 _Miura: i was, but ud probs just stalk me until i said yh anyway_

 _Hachiman: Well, if your answer really is yes, then thank you._

 _Miura: can i talk to u tho_

 _Hachiman: What about?_

 _Miura: just stuff_

 _Hachiman: So what? You want me to talk to you in return for a favour?_

 _Miura: no_

 _Hachiman: Then what do you mean?_

 _Miura: ill give u the favour whatever, id just rather u dont leave as soon as u told me wat it was_

 _Miura: not leave i mean_

 _Miura: i mean just dont go immediately_

 _Miura: cause its rude_

 _Miura: and textings is still having a conversation, and u dont leave halfway thru real life ones either_

 _Hachiman: You clearly haven't met me._

 _Miura: well no one apart from u leaves halfway thru a conversation so dont ok_

 _Miura: hikio_

 _Miura: if ur gone i swear_

 _Hachiman: It's fine. Can I ask you for the favour please?_

 _Miura: sure_

 _Hachiman: Could you ask Ebina if she'll talk to me for a bit tomorrow?_

 _Hachiman: Just us two alone._

 _Hachiman: It won't be for very long._

 _Miura: wat for_

 _Hachiman: Do you want me to tell you the truth?_

 _Miura: obviously_

 _Hachiman: Well, it should also be obvious what I want to talk to her about._

 _Miura: depends_

 _Hachiman: Depends on what?_

 _Miura: have u changed ur mind_

 _Hachiman: On what?_

 _Miura: it should be obvious rite_

He sighs when he reads her latest text. Already, they're going round in circles.

But he wouldn't be lying if he told her that he thought Yukinoshita was most likely.

Does that absolve him?

 _Hachiman: Yes, I have._

 _Hachiman: Miura?_

 _Hachiman: If you want to wait until morning, it's okay._

 _Miura: im here_

 _Hachiman: You don't have to answer if you don't want._

 _Hachiman: It's just a favour._

This _is_ a lie. It could mean a lot more than a favour.

 _Miura: r u lying to me_

 _Hachiman: No._

 _Miura: its ok if ur lying_

 _Miura: i dont care_

 _Miura: but like i said, id prefer it if i had the truth_

 _Hachiman: So would I._

 _Hachiman: But lots of people would prefer it if they didn't. It's an important distinction to make._

 _Miura: is it a lie then_

 _Hachiman: I'm not lying to you, Miura._

 _Miura: u think it was yukinoshita_

 _Hachiman: I'm not lying to you._

 _Miura: thats not saying if u think it was her_

 _Hachiman: I think it was her, Miura._

 _Hachiman: I promise you._

 _Hachiman: Miura?_

 _Hachiman: If you want the truth, then you should know that I'm terrible at promises. I can't even keep a promise to myself._

 _Hachiman: But I mean this one, Miura._

 _Hachiman: I promise._

She leaves again. He waits for her to return.

 _Miura: ill ask her in the morning_

 _Hachiman: Ebina?_

 _Miura: obviously_

 _Hachiman: Thank you._

 _Miura: whatever_

 _Hachiman: Do you think that she'll say yes?_

 _Miura: dunno_

 _Miura: im not fucking ebina am i_

 _Hachiman: I'm sorry for asking, Miura._

 _Miura: r u sorry for promising too_

 _Hachiman: No, because that's a promise I intend to keep._

 _Miura: do u intend to keep it or r u going to keep it_

 _Miura: theres a difference_

 _Hachiman: I'm going to keep it, Miura._

He sits watching the phone screen, and while doing so, time slips by without him keeping track. She'd asked him to stay.

It would be good if he were able to keep a promise.

 _Miura: r u still there hikio_

 _Hachiman: Yes._

 _Miura: why_

 _Hachiman: You said I should stay._

 _Miura: yh_

 _Hachiman: You're not alone, Miura._

 _Miura: yh_

 _Miura: tbh id rather be alone than with u_

 _Miura: but thx_

 _Miura: i guess_

 _Hachiman: Your welcome._

 _Miura: ill ask ebina in the morning_

 _Hachiman: I know. Thank you._

 _Miura: c u in the morning too_

 _Hachiman: See you in the morning._

Hikigaya Hachiman turns his phone off faster than usual, and drops it on the table with a light crash. The clarity is definitely gone.

He feels a pull. A tug of a rope, strong, strong enough that he can't resist it. The measure of an electric current from somewhere else in the house, and he feels the urge to follow it until he can pull her close to him and convince himself that he isn't alone either.

Or perhaps the opposite end of the rope isn't to be found in another room of his house. Perhaps it runs out of his window, just a speck in the naked eye, strung over the warm Chiba lanterns in the night and reaching out, reaching further, until it wraps around the highest window of an apartment complex. And there, on a balcony, watching over the city, it coils further, and embraces a girl who is beautiful to him, beautiful beyond design, beyond text messages and cups of tea. A girl who, like him, is looking through Chiba for the opposite end of the rope that binds them, past the lanterns, past the lies and truths, and looking again, like an ageless, wingless angel who, once upon a time, forgot how to fly.

* * *

A party should be the epitome of everything that Hachiman opposes, or else the Hachiman created in his progressively fragile philosophies. There is not a single instance of integrity on the night of a party; it is only a group of people who would be so immature that they'd pretend to know each other, and turning over boulders and boulders for the special, poetic connection. The only connection that they will find, after much exertion on everyone's part, is the inclination to drink too much alcohol. Ironically, it's only when all the senses and boundaries have been finally dispensed with that anyone might find some honesty.

Or, if the alcohol and the rage combine just right, someone might find a little too much honesty.

Hachiman can't claim to have had a true connection with anyone at that party. A few that, by some means, he had been unceremoniously connected, like he and Miura have been now, but a _connection_ was nowhere to be found. They would, inevitably, all have had their favoured perception of themselves, and for some he might be informed of the raw perception beneath that, but for others he couldn't even explain their first. He has have no idea of their life at home, of their wants and dislikes, of why the perception they favoured was the perception they favoured.

They're sitting across from each other, at a table of the cafe that he'd waited outside of for Tobe, Ooka and Yamato. The way that someone wears their uniform is more than enough for Hachiman to take what he will about them. Miura Yumiko may not be explicitly breaking the uniform code, but the eyeliner, the hair, the painted finger nails, were surely not what the dress code had envisioned. Kawasaki Saki used to wear the uniform in the loosest possible sense of the phrase, often without a blazer at all, her skirt rolled as high as she wanted- recently, any sense of style or belief in this minor clothes-related rebellion seems to have dissipated. Yukinoshita Yukino, in contrast, is _exactly_ what the dress code envisioned, and so unnerring is her replication that it could scarcely be possible not just in practice, but in thought.

Ebina Hina is none of these things. She wears the uniform with the appropriate emotion for such banal clothing choices- casual disinterest. She wears a blazer, and her shirt is tucked in, and her skirt is neither too long or too short, and her hair is short and tidy and her glasses have a habit of catching the light disconcertingly well, particularly in a place as brightly lit as this. Hachiman glances up at the lampshades above his heads, emptying warm yellow light onto their heads like a sunburnt waterfall. He wishes that they'd turn some of them off. It's far too hot, and the scent of the coffee is far too strong.

He reaches over and takes a sip from his MAXX Coffee. In front of Ebina is a latte regular, thus far untouched.

He glances at her again, and the expression is as nameless as before. A small, simple little smile, not even really a smile at all, just the movement at the corner of her lip. Not sad, not happy. Bittersweet? No. It's just nameless. Nothing.

Miura Yumiko had upheld her promise. Hachiman hadn't seen the exchange, despite coming in early to homeroom on a Monday for a first time of late, so he assumes that the request was met with no discernible rejection on Ebina's side. Miura had approached him after their first lesson (a courtesy she hadn't extended in homeroom itself), telling him only that her friend had said yes and that she'd meet him by the school gates after the bell went. He'd expected Miura to show some recognition, some sign that their texts the previous night had been as sincere to her as they had been to Hachiman, but the exchange was cold and brief. He's not sure they made eye contact.

Miura Yumiko, like everyone else, is becoming more and more obscure to him.

Meeting with Ebina had been much the same. They greeted each other, decided where they would have their chat- Ebina had suggested the cafe and he'd seen no reason to turn her down. On the way, they'd said little, except light conversation on her behalf which she managed to make indefinitely cheerful. In spite of this, there were no jokes. One thing he _had_ noticed about Ebina was that, since the party, she could be added to the list of people unwilling to make them-

"I quite like this cafe."

Hachiman refocuses his attention on the girl opposite him. Her eyes, mostly hidden by the rims of her glasses, are fluttering around the cafe like the wingbeats of a butterfly. First, the other customers, most of them other students from Sobu High, enough to occupy almost every seat, a herd of other dark coloured uniforms of which they're just another member. Second, the counter itself, where panicked looking baristas chop their way through the sizeable queue.

"Really?"

"Yeah." The glasses shine again as they come to face him. "There are a lot of nice memories here."

"Memories?"

"Y'know. Nothing important, really. That's why they're nice memories. Lots of afternoons after tiring school days..." She points, and he follows the line of her finger to a corner of the table behind his head. "That booth there. That's where we'd always go and sit. We've all spent a lot of money here. Tobe used to joke that we were the ones who funded the new coffee machine they got half way through our first year."

He raises an eyebrow. It had seemed like an appropriate place to laugh, or chuckle at least. Ebina didn't. She just smiled her nameless smile.

"When you say we, is that...?"

"Oh... me, Yumi, Tobe, Ooka, Yamato. Those kind of people. Yui as well, when she wasn't at the Service Club." She blinks through the glass. "By the way, Yui mentioned that you weren't coming to the Service Club anymore."

He stiffens. For some reason, it hadn't even crossed his mind that Yuigahama would talk about it.

"No. I'm not."

"You don't have to talk about it. Not if you don't want to."

"I don't."

"Fair enough." Her eyes flutter away again. "I know we're not friends."

"I'm not friends with anyone."

"Yui's your friend."

"No. She isn't."

"What about Totsuka-san? Or that boy you talk to sometimes. Zaimokuza?"

"We... haven't really spoken lately."

"Then what about Yukinos-"

"I said I didn't want to talk about the Service Club."

She blinks. "Yeah. Sorry."

Silence lands restlessly between them. He glances at the clock on the wall, hung nearby them. Twenty minutes have passed, and been wasted.

"If it helps at all, when I asked Yui why you weren't coming, she said that it was her fault."

His eyes remain on the hands of the clock, moving on and on, an endless tick. He suddenly wonders whether a clock would want to _stop_ ticking. If it were alive. If it could think, and do more than hang and tick and tick again.

"She said that both of you were just... what was the word she used... oh, yeah. Sorry, it was confused. She said that she hoped you'd come back to the club soon, though. So that she could apologis-"

"You said something about memories, right?"

She nods, apparently unfazed by the interruption.

"Happy memories... between you and your friends. I suppose that includes Hayama?"

The nameless smile remains still. "Yeah. Him too."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"What doesn't m-"

"Talking about Hayama."

She considers it a moment.

"No. It doesn't."

"Why not?"

"Hayama was my friend."

"Really?"

"Yes. He was."

"How well did you know him?"

"Well enough."

"How much is enough?"

"Enough is enough, Hikigaya-kun."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"... Well, if we were friends... which I think that we were... then probably about as much you know the Service Club-"

"I said I didn't want to talk abou-"

"Then be more tactful about the questions you ask."

He pauses, and his eyes narrow. Ebina looks back at him easily. Her face is irritatingly calm.

It certainly feels like a warning.

"What are your boundaries, then?"

"My boundaries?"

"What kind of questions am I allowed to ask?"

"You're allowed to ask whatever you wan-"

"Please don't contradict yourself. You just said that-"

"I asked you to be more tactful. You can ask me whatever questions you want. What matters is how you ask them."

"So I _can_ ask about Hayama?"

"If you like."

"What else can I ask about, Ebina-san?"

She reaches forward and picks up her latte, blowing the steam away from the rim.

"You can ask about the party. That's fine, too."

"Did Miura tell you that was what I wante-"

"She did, but it wouldn't have mattered either way-"

"-why no-"

"-because things have _changed,_ Hikigaya-kun."

They stare at each other. Her glasses are glistening in the light again.

Suddenly, she sighs.

"Look... I... I didn't mean it to come out like that. It's just... you need to know that... people deal with things in different ways. No one has a right way to deal with things. And... even if you don't believe it, there are people who listen to you, whether it's Yumi or Yui-"

"You're not my _mother,_ Ebina-san-"

"No. I'm not. But I _am_ a friend. Maybe not to you, but... you... somehow or other, you seem to be hurting them."

He opens his mouth to respond, but all he finds his names, nailed onto his tongue. _Miura, Kawasaki, Yui._

He closes his mouth, reaches for his MAXX Coffee and doesn't look at Ebina.

Silence, again.

"..."

"... I..."

"Yes, Hikigaya?"

"... I... I need to ask you about the party, Ebina. That's it. If... if you're not willing to-"

"I said you could ask whatever you want."

"..."

"I mean it."

"..."

It really is far too bright in the cafe. Briefly, he wonders whether he could ask one of the waiters to turn one of the lights off. He lifts his MAXX Coffee again upon realising how stupid that is.

Is her smile really as nameless as he thought? If what he wrote about last night really escaped the muddled mess of his previous ramblings- if no one is bulletproof- then Ebina Hina couldn't be the only one who felt no need to change. He himself has changed, and it was a change that happened so fast he didn't manage to catch it, like fireflies slipping through a little girl's fingers. It isn't just this newfound humourlessness. It's the dullness of her eyes behind the glasses, which had caught the light so immaculately he'd missed it.

"... Is it true that Miura was going to spike Yukinoshita's drink?"

"Yes."

"Okay... Miura... when I asked her about it, she made it seem like you were okay with her going ahea-"

"I wasn't."

"Then why didn't you tell her to stop?"

"I _did_ tell her to stop. I... suppose I just didn't try hard enough. I tried to be subtle about it, but... Yumi's good at only hearing what she wants to hear. And shereally wanted to go ahead with it."

"And it was only when Yui found out that she _did_ stop?"

"Yes."

"They argued? Did the- um... sorry... what was the argume-"

"It was short. Not quiet, but definitely short. It felt fiercer than it was, at the time. I thought they might've properly fallen ou-"

"And did... sorr-"

"You don't have to apologise."

"... And what did they immediately afterwards? The drink was left in the kitchen, right?"

"Yes."

He leans forward slightly. "It didn't occur to you get rid of it?"

She pauses. "Um- no. No, it didn't. I assumed that Yumi or Yui would do it after they made up-"

"Do you think it's possible that someone took the drink?"

"... I didn't think about it on the night. I was drunk. But yes. I thought that someone might've afterwards-"

"-Kawasa-"

"Yes. That's exactly what I thought."

Hachiman nods. The affirmation was enough for him to be sure that the theory was right.

"So did I... and after Hayama, Tobe, Ooka and Yamato arrived. It _was_ between 6 and 7, right?"

"Somewhere around then, yes."

"Miura told me that nothing out of the ordinary happened. That the party just started off normally. Is that right?"

"... Yes."

"You hesitated," he says instantly.

She did so again.

"... Hikigaya-san... you... you mustn't think badly of her. I know that she can seem-"

"Who are you talking about? Miura?"

She meets his intense stare, and then pushes her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. Perhaps it struck her that there was little point in trying to avoid him.

"All I mean is that most of the time, she doesn't think. About what she says, or does. She can be a little... clueless, I suppose."

"What was out of the ordinary, Ebina?"

"... The party had already started at that point. There were only seven of us, but Yumi's house is bigger than it looks and so we were all moving around quite a lot. Not sitting in the same place. Some of us would be out in the garden- it was just bright enough to be outside- and some-"

"I understand. What was out of the ordinary?"

"Um... a little after Hayama and the rest had arrived, around 7 I'd say, I needed to go to the bathroom. The downstairs one was occupied so I went upstairs. I was in there for awhile because the music was quite loud and I was messing around with my phone... I, um- I dried my face with the towel and went downstairs again, but when I was half way down the stairs I heard these voices. Coming from the downstairs bathroom."

"Voices?"

"Yes. A boy and a girl, talking."

"Talking about what?"

"Well... they were more arguing."

"Arguing?"

He tries to keep the tension out of his voice, but fails.

"Yeah. I couldn't hear what they saying, but whatever it was, it was quite loud."

"And no one else was nearby to hear them?"

"No. They were all in the garden."

"Who was?"

"Well, there's a window for the upstairs bathroom. It's pretty big, so I could definitely have seen out, but I didn't think to. And like I said, I was in there for awhile, so anyone could have come inside. But I'm pretty sure it was Hayama and Miur-"

"For what reason?"

"I didn't stay on the staircase. I wasn't intentionally trying to eavesdrop, but... it hit me that was what it would seem like if they came out, so I started going back upstairs. I figured I could wait until they came out and then go back to the party."

"You didn't think you should intervene?"

"Whatever that argument was, it seemed private."

"So if you didn't see them, why could it have been Hayama and Miura?"

"I only just got to the top of the landing when the bathroom door opened. I... I jumped up the final few steps to the right so they wouldn't know I was there-"

"You didn't want to be seen?"

"It was instinctive, more than anything."

"But I assume you saw them?"

"No."

"Then-"

"I heard him. Hayama. It was definitely him, loud and clear. I didn't hear who was with him, but considering what he said, I don't see how it could be anyone but Miura."

"What did he say?"

"That he was sorry. That he didn't mean it, whatever 'it' was, and that he was going to say eventually-"

"What was the exact wording?"

"... It was weeks ago, Hikigaya-"

"Then try to remember."

Ebina's glasses flash, but she stays still.

"He said, _'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I... I was going to say eventually'._ Yumi stormed out after that. She didn't even bother replying."

"..."

Hachiman's thumb comes to rest on the cold metal of the MAXX Coffee can, but he doesn't take a sip. He spears through the words in his mind.

" _I'm sorry..._ "

"What was that?"

He lifts his head again.

"Ebina... if it was Miura... what would you say that Hayama was apologising for?"

She doesn't bat an eyelid.

"I think that he was apologising for stringing her along."

"So you agree that was what it was?"

"Of course."

"And you still considered him a friend?"

"Yes. Friends make mistakes, Hikigaya-kun. It's your job to forgive them for it."

"Forgiveness is a hollow lie."

The smile widens. "I could've guessed you'd say something like that."

"It's true. Hayama is a prime example of that- even if it wasn't Miura who he was apologising to, I can guarentee that he didn't mean it."

"I don't believe that."

"Why not?"

"No one enjoys pretending. Not in real life."

"Everybody pretends. That _is_ real life."

"I could've guessed you'd say that as well."

"Am I really that predictable?"

"... Sometimes. Others, you don't do what I'd expect of you at all."

"How about Miura? Is _she_ predictable?"

Her nameless smile, for the first time, gets a little wider.

"Yes. Yumi's the most predictable person I know."

"And is your prediction that she was confessing to him?"

"Yes."

"... It seems strange."

"What does?"

"That _then_ is when she'd chose to confess to him."

"I don't think it's strange at all. It was her birthday party, Hikigaya-kun. Deep down, Yumi's actually something of a romantic."

"That wasn't her first birthday. She could've confessed last year, or any of the days she's spent at this school, and it would've been just as romantic. But no. She chose that exact moment above any other. Why?"

"There's such a thing as liquid courage."

"She was that drunk?"

"We were _all_ that drunk."

"I wasn't. Neither was Hayama-san."

"That doesn't make any differenc-"

"Whose your best friend, Ebina?"

She exhales. "Has anyone ever said that talking to you is exhausting?"

"Do I look like I'm in the mood for jokes?"

"... No. That you don't."

"Like I said, I need to ask you questions. That's it. So, whose your best friend?"

"... Why is that important-"

"Are you better friends with Miura or Yuigahama? Or perhaps you're closer to Kawasaki?"

"I'm good friends with all of them. I don't need to have a 'best' friend."

"Are you good enough friends to lie for them?"

"... You think that I've been lying to you?"

"... No. Not necessarily. But the only time when you did was because it concerned Miura."

"I _hesitated_ , Hikigaya-kun. That's not the same as lying-"

"Theoretically, Ebina. _Theoretically_ , would you lie to me for them?"

"I can't answer that."

"What about Miura, then. Would she lie to me?"

"You're talk about friendship as if it's evil."

"I would never lie to anyone for a friend. Not over something like this."

They look at each other.

"I think you underestimate what people will do for friendship, Hikigaya-kun. You, me or anyone."

He practically scowls. If he'd known Ebina was going to talk in the same manner as Yukinoshita Haruno, he might've thought twice about coming.

Though she has given him a stronger motive for his other prime suspect. One he knows all too well is a powerful one. Rejection.

"You admitted that Hayama didn't care for Miura..."

"Yes?"

"... You wouldn't have any reason to know this, but do you think that there's a chance Hayama was in love with Yukinoshita?"

"I wouldn't have any reason to know that, no."

"Alright. A- and did anything else happen before? Before myself and Kawasaki arrived at the party, and then up until the game of spin the bottle started?"

"No. I thought it might've been a little strained after Miura and Hayama, but... she seemed well enough. I thought about talking to her but I knew she wouldn't appreciate it. In some ways, she's better at pretending than Hayama."

 _Could she have pretended to me, as well?_

That can be considered later. At last, he can ask her about the one part of evening that still makes no absolutely no sense.

"After everyone had split off... after Miura had smashed the bottle on the table, I mean... you and everyone except Hayama and Yukinoshita went into the kitchen?"

She nods.

"Did you happen to see where Yukinoshita or Hayama were?"

"... No. I... think I saw somebody going into the back garden. It might've been Yukinoshita, but I couldn't tell."

His fingers clench into a fist. Ebina notices.

"Are you alright?"

"... Miura said that, too."

"Said what?"

"That it was Yukinoshita who went into the back garden. Not Hayama."

"... Why do you think it was Hayam-"

"Why do youthink that it was Yukinoshita?"

"... I'm... I'm not sure. I might've seen her, but I can't remember-"

" _Then why are you lying to me_?" he hisses.

Ebina doesn't move.

Her expression has a name now. He can't quite tell, but it could definitely be fear.

"... I'm... I'm sorry if I... look, maybe I should go-"

"Stay there."

Her eyes widen behind the glasses, still glistening, glistening, glistening.

"Now listen."

"... Hikigaya-kun, pleas-"

"I'm sick of people lying. Do you hear me?"

"... Hikigaya-"

"I'm absolutely fucking _sick_ of liars-"

"Is this kid bothering you?"

They both turn their heads. The waiter who brought them their drinks is stood there, his face stoic.

Hachiman's heart plummets. He realises what he's said. He looks around to see if anyone else had heard but no one else looking because he'd been speaking quietly and _fuc_ -

"No... um... sorry sir. We were... just having a bit of a disagreement. Right, Hachiman?"

He looks at her, and then at the waiter again, gormless like a fish hooked out of the water.

"Are you sure?" he says, thoroughly unconvinced.

"If he _does_ bother me, I'll be sure to call you over," Ebina replies reassuringly.

He looks between Ebina and the waiter and Ebina and the waiter as _they_ look between each other. He swears he's forgotten how to breathe.

 _Why is it so fucking bright in here?_

The waiter purses his lips. "Okay, I'm... I'll just be over the counter, okay? If you need me to get rid of him, just look my way and it's done."

Ebina nods, smile back in force. "Thank you. You're very kind."

The waiter walks away, each step crashing into the cafe floor like a kamikaze bomber.

"Hikigaya-kun..."

"..."

"... I think it would probably be best if I go-"

"Please don't go."

He can't look at her. The fact that she stays is, however, the only thing that matters.

"I... I need to know. Please tell me."

"..."

"I... I can't explain it, but I need to know."

"..."

"... Ebina, pleas-"

"Alright."

"... You should g-"

"I know that I should."

"..."

"I'll tell you about what happened after the game of spin the bottle. Okay?"

"... Thank you."

"... I can't tell you where Yukinoshita or Hayama were exactly, but that was my instinct. I honestly thought that Yukinoshita was outside at that time. It... wasn't for any reason I can specifically remember, but that was what I thought."

"Alright."

"It was me, Yumi, Yui, Ooka, Yamato and Tobe who were in the kitchen. Me and Yui were trying to comfort Yumi because of what happened... with Hayama."

"... Could you take me through who left the kitchen?"

"We all did, at some point. Except Yumi. Ooka and the rest left first- I think it was to clear up the glass. I didn't hear them saying they were going to do that, so I left to go and do that. I was drunk, so I got kinda confused about why there was no glass on the floor. I came back in when I realised they must already have done it."

She glances down at her latte. It's stopped steaming now.

"I... I did hear something. When I was in the other room."

"Wh- what was it?"

"I heard someone moving around upstairs. And then Kawasaki's voice. She was... being quite loud. Actually, I suppose she must've been shouting if I heard her over the music."

"..."

"She was probably just stumbling around by herself. I know that you took her upstairs, and she was blind drunk anyway... I told her to go easy through the night, but if she took the spiked drink then..."

"Could there have been more than one person upstairs?"

"I was drunk. There could have been a dozen people upstairs and I wouldn't have been able to tell properly. The only sound I definitely heard was Kawasaki's voice."

 _More proof that Yukinoshita_ was _upstairs. I know she didn't hear a voice, so it could've been anyone, bu- but anyone could be Yukinoshita._

"Yui left the kitchen as well- we kinda rotated taking care of her- and got a towel to dry her eyes, so we didn't have to keep going back and forth."

"... And the party just restarted after that?"

"Yes. Everything seemed to calm down and... and that was the end of it, really. I mean, there was Ooka vomiting and I had to get more paper from the downstairs bathroom for him but that was it. I didn't see anything unusual."

"..."

"At the end of the evening, me and Yui went upstairs to get our stuff, and then we left. That was the end of the evening for me."

"And the end of a lot more for Hayama."

"... That's horrible Hikigay-"

"I know it is."

"..."

They don't say anything for five agonising minutes. Hachiman finds himself searching again and again for the waiter who'd interrupted them. Once, their search was mutual, their eyes connect, and he wishes he thought to search.

The clock reads eight minutes to five. Still ticking on.

"I'm going to go now, Hikigaya-kun."

He nods, accepting it. She could've nodded back, but he only sees her stand up, put on her blazer and begin to make her way round the table. As she does so, she tucks a wad of yen notes under her coffee cup's saucer.

"That's the price for my latte, plus tips-"

"Ebina."

He's grabbed her arm. Its cold, trapped in his fingers.

"You're... you're a better friend than I could ever be. Kawasaki needs someone like that now."

Hachiman doesn't check, but he wants to imagine her gaze softening.

"I know she does, Hikigaya-kun."

"So does Miura."

"I know that too."

He lets go of her arm.

"And you've... you've been a great hel-"

"Y'know something, Hikigaya-kun?"

"What?"

"I don't believe that you couldn't be a good friend. Not if you tried."

"..."

"And, I think that Yui and Yukinoshita believe you _are_ a good friend-"

"Then they're idiots. I've done nothing to deserve their friendship."

"... Like I said, people will do a lot for friendship. Give me one good reason why you couldn't be one of those people."

"..."

"That's what I thought."

"..."

"Goodbye Hikigaya-kun."

He doesn't bother turning his back as Ebina walks away, nor does he hear the door open as she leaves. There are so many customers that it could easily have been someone else, anyway.

Instead, he goes back to the clock.

Time. Timings.

 _It's like a clock,_ Hachiman thinks to himself. _This is like a clock, and I'm still reading it wrong._

* * *

 _Nothing makes sense_

 _Nothing makes sense_

 _Nothing makes sense_

 _Nothing makes sense_

 _Nothing makes sense nothing makes sensenothing makes sense nothing makes sense_ _nothing makes sense nothing makes sense nothingmakes sense nothing makes sense othing makes sense nothing makes sense nothing makes sensenothingmakes sensothing makes sense nothing makes sensenothing makes sense nothing makes sense_

 _nothing makes sense_

 _it's never going to make sense_

 _it hasnt made sense before why the hell should it make sense now_

 _i think and it doesnt make sense, it doesnt do anything, nothing does anything, ive done everything ive looked but theres nothing ive seen things over and over but it does nothing_

 _i feel like i could turn over every stone on the fucking planet and there would be nothing but fucking dirt_

 _nothings ever made sense in my life_

 _ive always been missing something i swear since the moment i was born there was something that wasnt there and it doesnt matter what i tell myself it just isnt it doesnt matter the people i meet and the people i hurt or the people who hurt me all that happens is nothing making sense_

 _i look for genuine and it isnt there, i look for truth and it isnt there_

 _it doesnt even make sense that there isnt truth because i dont know whose lying_

 _it doesnt ma_

* * *

Hikigaya Hachiman is sitting on his bed, staring blankly at the wall.

In front of him, all over the floor of the room, are torn pieces of paper. The remnants of his notebook. He decided to tear it up so quickly, and then bits and pieces were scattered around as frayed snowflakes, or clouds of ash blown up by a dying fire. He was sick of looking at the pages. Of writing in them constantly for a purpose that he thought he knew but that is becoming encased in glass, impossible for him to touch. An impossible, far away thing. A pot of gold at the foot of a rainbow, to be chased but never to be discovered.

Now, he will never have to write in it again. The snapped spine can also be found amongst the debris.

And so, he stares blankly at the wall. The light to his room isn't on, and the moon is tied behind the wall of clouds suspended above him, so he is in darkness.

Tearing up the notebook made him feel a little better. Briefly. It was almost therapeutic. But the thoughts on the paper weren't the only copy.

And what thoughts are there to have other than that it makes no sense?

He's still wearing his school clothes, and the encounter with Ebina is still fresh. She gave him what he wanted- answers to his questions. She told him things that he hadn't known about the night of the party beforehand. She did exactly what he asked of her. The conversation between Hayama and Miura. If it was her. The voice of Kawasaki while moving upstairs between 9:45 and past 10PM. If it was her.

But they are only small answers. Small, and insignificant if he can make nothing of them.

Hachiman leans back on the covers of his bed.

 _I should probably sleep,_ he thinks.

That's as far as the thought goes.

There's knocking on his bedroom door. He knows instantly who it is- there is no one else in the house but him and his sister. Hikigaya Komachi.

So much for trust.

"Onii-chan?" she calls out softly.

He sighs, and sits up again.

"Yes, Komachi?"

"I'm..."

"... Yes? What is it?"

"I'm... I... I don't know what to say, Onii-chan."

"Neither do I, Komachi."

"... Can I come in-"

"No."

"..."

Suddenly, there is the sound of whimpering. An ugly sound of tears that have been skinned and chipped away at until they are hardly recognisable as tears at all.

"I- I love you, Onii-chan."

"..."

"I'm so, so worried about you."

"..."

"I don't know what to say be- because there's some many places I could start and places that I _want_ to start but I, I feel like it's got to the poi- point where I could say anything but you wouldn't listen because you're behind that door and you're probably not even listening right now-"

"I'm listening, Komachi-"

"-and it's so stupid because I just, I- I just really want you to open the door Hachiman. Please could you open the door? I really want to talk to you and I want to try and, and ma- make you feel better even if you don't want to feel better. I, yo- you don't even have the lights on in there, do you Onii-chan? You should turn on the lights-"

"The lights-"

"-cause nobody should just be sitting in their room in the dark, all on their own, they should someone with th- them and, uh, the lights should be on or s- something-"

"The lights-"

"-and oh my God, Onii-chan would you ju, would you just please open the door? I just want to see you-"

"Komachi, the... the... the lights..."

Hikigaya Hachiman is sat on his bed, staring blankly at the wall.

But his mind is on fire.

"... The... the porchlights..."

"... Onii-chan?"

He knew it.

He knew the answer. Everything.

He knew the truth.

And it made so much sense.

* * *

 **AN: Something new about this fic, at least for me, is the process by which I've written it. All of my other stories on so far have been very spur of the moment- this is the first time that I started off with a plan and actually carried it out pretty much to the letter (the fact that it was a murder mystery kinda made the plan obligatory lel). This scene in particular was one I had in mind from the very beginning. I dunno, it's kinda weird seeing something that you've bigged up in your mind for so long realised almost exactly as you imagined.**

 **Also, I've noticed that other authors on FF will mention a couple of songs that they'd listened to in order to write their story. Here's me jumping on the bandwagon.**

 **Dark Side of Me- Coheed and Cambria.**

 **Mono- Fightstar.**

 **Both of these were great for trying to get into 8man's mindset.**

 **Anyway, if you'll excuse that moment of digression, here's what I'd intended to say. Hachiman has now solved the murder, and the big reveal will be next chapter.**

 **Therefore, it'd be great to see your final theories on who the murderer is! Reading your reviews has always been the best part of writing Broken Glass, and I can't wait to see your whos, hows and whys.**

 **Hope you've enjoyed the story so far.**


	10. Chapter 10

_'Thine heart? What should I name it, but a hollow bullet filled with unquenchable wild fire?'_

* * *

 **Broken Glass**

 **Chapter 10:**

The Service Club.

Yukinoshita Yukino does not remember the day of the first Service Club meeting anymore. There have been too many days since then. Too many hours that have replaced that first hour, and too many sun beams or rain storms to replace whatever the weather had been, now only a chipped slab of coarse grey in her memory, and too many listless emotions that have bombarded it, undermined it, and for so long. Today, the meetings have all bled into one, like ink on litmus paper, black split apart until all its red, blue, and green is laid naked, its secrets, the most human of its colours.

And, looking at the Service Club laid naked, with all its naive ideals and equally naive disputes around those ideals emptied out, she can see what it has ultimately achieved. _Not_ achieved. It has proven nothing, other than the truth that she is nowhere near the sum of the reflections that she thought she was or could be. The Service Club's purpose was to help people, or put more arrogantly, to enlighten them. To send them back off into the waters of Sobu High as changed, elegant young swans when all they'd been previously was an ugly inbetween, neither duckling nor swan, stone nor diamond, rock nor alabaster, because a person could only resemble her stainless, gorgeously carved bust of a what a person should be like.

A bust that, eerily enough, only really resembled the statuesque presumption of how Yukinoshita Yukino, the Ice Queen, the flawless student, _wanted_ to appear. It was all and only what she'd carved out in her head.

And it was as soon as other people came to the Service Club, joined it and moulded it for themselves, that the carving ceased to be the truth that it never was in the first place.

She's willing to accept this. That the Service Club has not achieved. That its purpose is a misguided one, and Yukinoshita Yukino is not stubborn enough to pursue a misguided purpose. She would only be lying to herself if the Service Club was allowed to continue.

And so, she is waiting outside the door of Hiratsuka-sensei's office. It is not an unfamiliar waiting. After every Service Club session, it is customary that she should return the key to the clubroom, and she has been there simply because the guidance counsellor wanted to talk to her, and for the odd, half forgotten reasons that other hazy club sessions demanded. She's never waited this long to enter, though. In the past she has knocked swiftly and spoken to Hiratsuka-sensei briefly, leaving politely because she had some other urgency to attend to, a piece of homework that wasn't due for a couple of weeks but would ease her mind if completed early. A meeting with Haruno or her parents that simply couldn't wait.

She can see Hiratsuka-sensei through the window in the door, if she stands on the balls of her feet. There she is, labcoat as proud as a lioness, scrambling her pen's fluorescent green ink onto a student's essay. The guidance counsellor is nearly always late to hand them back.

Yukinoshita Yukino waits.

She hadn't waited when she came to ask if a new club could be formed. Something that she'd tentatively labelled the 'Volunteers Club', but that not five minutes later, she'd realise would be mroe appropriately labelled something else.

Yukinoshita Yukino waits.

Just when she's about to knock, Hiratsuka turns her head and sees her through the window. The Ice Queen almost backs away, but then she's beckoned in and now it's obligatory.

She open the door and steps inside.

"Hey, Yukinoshita-san."

"Good afternoon, Hiratsuka-sensei."

"Nice day so far?"

"It has been quiet."

She smiles tenderly, as if talking to someone much younger than a high school student. "And that constitutes a good day for you, does it?"

Yukinoshita considers this. "... Not necessarily."

"Really? I'd have thought a good kid like you would be a dead on yes."

"Good kid?"

Tenderly. None of her usual brashness. "Absolutely."

"... I've tried being a good kid before Hiratsuka-sensei."

"You don't need to _try_ to be that, Yukinoshita. How long have I known you for... a year and a half, something like that? I've never thought differently all that time."

"... Of course."

"Well... pull up a chair if you want?"

"I would prefer to stand, thank you sensei."

"Sure. I'm guessing you have something to talk to me about?"

"Yes, though it's more of a request."

"Hm. You never do come on trivialities, do you?"

"You're my sensei. Not a friend."

"Yeah. I guess you have the Service Club for that."

"I... that was what I wanted to talk to you about. The Service Club."

Hiratsuka swivels a little more on her chair, angling herself until they're looking at each other directly.

"Okay. Go for it."

"..."

Hiratsuka blinks. "It's alright, Yukinoshita. Take your time."

"..."

The Service Club president glances back towards the door. It looks breathtakingly inviting.

"I... I sincerely apologise sensei, but it would appear that my thoughts are... it would appear that my resolve is nowhere near as concrete as I thought. I... perhaps it would be best if I returned at a later date."

"You can do that if you want."

"If I want?"

"Yeah. You can do whatever you want Yukinoshita."

"... With the greatest amount of respect, sensei, I can assure you that isn't true."

Yukinoshita hadn't noticed the dramatic sunset burning its route through the sky, just behind Hiratsuka's head. She was far too preoccupied with her choice of words, her phrasing, to see it, and it's often the case in the Service Club too. Talking to someone is a task that commands a person's upmost attention, if her own experience can be relied upon- they must be of the right temperament to understand it properly. The potent blend of assured arrogance and assured empathy. Yukinoshita does not have the right temperament at all.

 _It truly is magnificent,_ she thinks. All pink infernos and pillars of orange ash, fizzing in the silhouette of Hiratsuka's long black hair. Imagine the whole sky breathing and crashing in a person's brain. A comet shower in a blazing mind.

"Like I said, you don't have to tell me if you want."

"..."

"Well, you seem unsur-"

"No. I'm not unsure."

"..."

"... I apologise. I spoke out of turn-"

"There's no need to apologise, Yukinoshita. Saying what's on your mind is an admirable trait."

"Not if it's something they don't want to hear."

"Yukinoshita..." She sighs. "People always want the easiest thing."

"You said I could have whatever I want."

"No, I didn't. I said you could _do_ whatever you want."

"... But... but what if I want the easiest thing... regardless of... of need, and... and truth..."

Hiratsuka shakes her head. Tenderly. _Tenderly._

"Then you could return at a later date? The Service Club doesn't run itself. And I'll be here to listen whenever you want."

"..."

"Yukinoshita-"

"I want to dispand the Service Club."

"..."

"I... I strongly believe that it... that it has run its course. No... I believe that it had already run its course some time ago. I believe that it may have been a wrongful venture in the first place, and that thinking it necessary was a colossal miscalculation on my part. I... I strongly believe this, and so I want to dispand the Service Club."

"... Alright."

"..."

"I'll dispand the Service Club for you. It may take a couple of days. Y'know, to run it through the people and stuff... actually, it probably won't take very long at all. The club budget is pretty stretched as it is."

"... Just like that."

Hiratsuka swivels back towards her desk.

"Yeah. I could probably sort it out for you by tomorrow, if you want?"

"..."

"Yeah?"

"... Of course, sensei. Thank you very much."

"No problem."

Yukinoshita Yukino waits. Unmoving. Silent.

"Do you have anything you want to ask?"

"No."

"... Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Alright."

"... Sensei..."

"Yeah?"

"... I... I suppose that... I suppose that I didn't expect..."

"Well, you can do whatever you want, Yukinosh-"

"Would you... would you tell my your opinion of my choice?"

She lifts an eyebrow.

"My opinion of what choice?"

"To disband the Service Club."

"... I can tell you if you want. But I'll tell you what you need to hear. Not anything else. You fine with that?"

"Of course, Hiratsuka-sensei."

"Okay then."

She puts down the marker pen that she'd picked up again.

"My opinion is that you shouldn't be asking for _my_ opinion."

"... Whose opinion are you referring to?"

"Your clubmate's. The people who made the Service Club possible-"

"They didn't make it possible, Hiratsuka-sensei."

"..."

Yukinoshita links her fingers together. Seeing them apart felt cold, somehow.

"If anything, they did the opposite."

"I'm not sure that's entirely true, Yukinoshi-"

"No, I... I think that it is."

"Then tell me something else. Have you even told them you were planning to do this?"

"No."

"Did you _consider_ telling them?"

"No."

"Then it stands to reason that you thought you couldn't. That they would disapprove, I suppose?"

"..."

"If you dispand the Service Club, they will have to know, Yukinoshita. There's no way around that."

"I know."

"... Well... that's my opinion. I can't give you anything more than that."

"... Hiratsuka-sensei."

"Yes?"

"... I'm right in believing that I am the president of the Service Club, yes?"

"Uh huh."

"Then it's my choice how I conduct it, is it not? Whether it continues or dispands..."

"I never quesioned that, Yukinoshita. I only gave you my opinion."

"... Yes. I thank you for that, sensei."

"Sure thing."

"Though... though... I knew that I shouldn't hear it..."

"Yeah."

Her fingers are locked together. Yards of a chain. Link and link and link. Like strands of a rope, reaching down from the highest window of an apartment complex to the bedroom of a house not far from Sobu High, furious like the crash of a comet.

Yukinoshita Yukino pulls her fingers apart.

"I strongly believe that the Service Club should be dispanded, Hiratsuka-sensei. That is what I want."

"... Alright."

She turns her back on the school guidance counsellor.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to lock up the clubroom early. Now that the decision's been made, I see no reason to delay. I'll retrieve the key and return it, if you deem it adequate?"

"Sure. As long as Yuigahama or Hikigaya aren't there...?"

"... I already informed you that Hikigaya hadn't been attending of late, and Yuigahama... Yuigah-"

She screws her eyes shut. Hiratsuka can't see her face, but she can probably guess.

"Yuigahama... could not attend today. She told me that she had missed some homework and didn't know how long it would take her to finish. It... not attending was just precautionary, I assume."

"Is dispanding the Service Club precautionary, too?"

"..."

Hiratsuka sighs. "Sorry Yukinoshita. That was unfair of me."

"... Of course."

"You can go and bring back the key if you want."

"You're... I appreciate your guidance throughout my tenure as the Service Club's president."

"That's a very formal way of saying thank you... but yeah, it wasn't a problem at all. Like I said, you're a good kid, Yukinoshita."

"..."

She reaches for the door and opens it.

"I never saw you three happy before the Service Club."

"..."

"I don't think that it was a 'wrongful venture'. I think it was a brilliant idea, Yukinoshita. A nice one. And I'll always be here to listen to you. If you have another brilliant idea, or if you just need to tell me something. You can always tell me, Yukinoshita."

"... I don't have anything else to tell you, Hiratsuka-sensei. If I do, I will come to your office again."

"Sure thing."

"I'm just going to collect the key. I'll be back momentarily."

"Yeah."

"... Thank you, Hiratsuka-sensei."

"... Wait, Yukin-"

She closes the door before she can hear the words. Immediately, she is turning around, moving, moving as fast as her feet can carry her without breaking into a sprint that would send her spiralling away, down the corridor, away from the office, back to the clubroom.

The clubroom.

Yukinoshita Yukino's clubroom.

 _No. The Service Club's room._

The Service Club.

Yukinoshita reaches into her blazer pocket and removes a piece of paper. A note that she's written on. She had written on it before she came to Hiratsuka-sensei's office to tell her of the decision, when she was sat in the Service Club, alone but for the scent of the tea, the taste of it on her tongue.

She reads it frantically as she walks. There are inky wounds, splodges around the writing where tears had fallen as she wrote.

* * *

 _I have decided that the time is appropriate. The time is right to dispand the Service Club. There is no discernible reason why it should continue._

 _No reason that I can discern._

 _There is no one else with me in the clubroom. It is just as it was at the beginning, before anyone else joined. I would go so far to describe it as deja vu. I have a book on the table beside me, Pan-chan the Panda, but I am obviously not reading it, as I have decided to dispand the Service Club._

 _Hikigaya Hachiman is not here. Neither is Yuigahama Yui. I have no requests to answer, and we have not had a request for a number of weeks, and such consistent inactivity is precisely why the Service Club needs to be dispanded._

 _I have also decided that it would be wise to pen a note to the only other member of the Service Club, at least in spirit if not in writing. Hikigaya Hachiman has not attended for several weeks either, so I would consider myself alone in the Service Club except for Yuigahama Yui._

 _We are alone together, and I would assume this is markedly less miserable than being alone._

 _This note will obviously not suffice as a final draft, as many sections of the paper are either smudged or sloppily written, and I am not writing in kanji, which I have always been told is correct for a letter of formal address, and therefore this will only be an initial draft where I can write my thoughts as they arrive without fear of judgement._

 _I am writing to Yuigahama Yui alone, as Hikigaya Hachiman is now no longer a member of the Service Club._

 _Dear Yuigahama Yui,_

 _Yuigahama Yui_

 _I_

 _Hikigaya-kun is not a person who should be_

 _I am still afraid._

 _There is no shadow large enough for me to hide in. I feel as if the sun could eclipse, could rain down shadows on the earth in their hundreds of millions, and hundreds of millions of eyes would still find me._

 _The realisation_

 _Yuigahama Yui_

 _You are my friend Yuigahama, and if that means that I_

 _If it means the same for both of us, then I_

 _I am so afraid. I was afraid then but I am more afraid now. I always feel afraid. I am never entirely certain what I am afraid of, but I am afraid of it, deeply afraid, and it doesn't matter where it is or what it is because all that matters is that I am afraid of it and that is all that matters._

 _I am deeply sorry, for I know how much is has meant and could mean to you, but the Service Club can no longer continue. As the president of the Service Club, that is my final request._

 _Your's sincerely, Yukinoshita Yukino_

 _I intend to inform Hiratsuka-sensei of my decision shortly._

* * *

Her pace slows a little as she gets nearer and nearer to the clubroom. Though what's she written is hardly comforting, though the words are full of screaming echoes lost too deep in the ocean to be heard, she finds a sonorous note, a melodic clarity in the cries washed away, that she latches onto. She'll latch onto anything if it will freeze the dissonant screeches in her chest.

She decides what the best way to go forward is. She will do what she told Hiratsuka-sensei she would do. She will retrieve the key and close the door to the clubroom. Permanently. She will pack up her tea set as well and she won't look at its setting on the side table where it has waited and waited for months, at the seats where she and Hikigaya and Yuigahama had waited too, at the windows with the view of the school and the swarm of Chiba's tallest buildings in the background. Then, she will tell Yuigahama of her decision. Hikigaya does not deserve to know. It was naive of her to think that a note would be sufficient. She will tell Yuigahama in person.

Yukinoshita doesn't stop, arriving at the clubroom door, because she's never stopped before. There isn't a Hiratsuka-sensei sat inside, just sitting, with the tenderness and the opinions that she should never have asked for or wanted, circling, circling, a tornado of sharks in a panicked night sea, caught in the net of maddening scent of blood, a sailor's body sinking to the bottom. She rushes in. She'd left the key on the table, just in front of Yuigahama's chair-

The key is where she left it. Untouched. But there _is_ someone waiting for her.

The Service Club president straightens herself. She flattens her skirt, heartbeat punching into the bones of her ribcage like a byaonet that backfired. She was far too hurried as she entered her clubroom.

No. The Service Club's room. Her, Yuigahama and the boy currently sitting at one of the chairs. Not his chair, though. He's sat with the window behind him, the sunset behind him as it was for Hiratsuka-sensei, in the chair where _she_ is supposed to sit, not opposite her, not where he is supposed to be. Hikigaya's features are only hardened, settled, by the soft, breathing colours about him; the vibrant truths of the ebbing sun only running alongside the vibrant truths of his face, instead of falling upon it, changing it. The carving of his jawline seems fierce, as it were brandishing a knife at her, and his dead fish eyes are just that. Dead. A lifeless glare.

This is the Hikigaya-kun that she saw opposite her at all of the Service Club sessions.

Who was the Yukinoshita Yukino that _he_ saw opposite him?

"Yukinoshita-san."

"... Hikigaya-kun."

Her pants emerge like fences of smoke from a factory.

"... Why..."

"Why what, Yukinoshita-san?"

"... Why..."

She screws her eyes tightly shut.

"Why are you here, Hikigaya-kun?"

Yukinoshita is not looking. She doesn't notice as the lifelessness is purposely forced from his glare.

"... I'm not entirely sure."

"Were you... yo- you seemed sure that you _shouldn't_ come."

"I was sure. A... a part of me is still sure of that."

"But you're here."

"I am."

Her fingers are itching. She feels the urge to lock them together again.

"... Is Yuigahama here as well?"

"..."

"Yukinoshi-"

"She isn't. She's... she informed me that she couldn't attend. There was some schoolwork."

"... That's alright. You're the one I need to talk to most."

"..."

"Is that okay? If we talk?"

"It's strange... I seem to be reliving the conversation I just had. With Hiratsuka-sensei."

"Sorry if I'm boring you."

"... Hikigaya-kun, you... you are everything but boring."

"And you're everything but the person I thought you were."

"... I apologise if I disappointed you."

"There's no reason I should be disappointed."

"But yo- you are?"

"... I... This is... this is my final request, Yukinoshita-san. To the Service Club."

"Your final request?"

"Yes."

Her everything is itching. The sunset isn't magnificent, and the tea set is old and the table looks dusty in the light. Hikigaya looks sad. Is he sad?

"It will also be the Service Club's last request, Hikigaya-kun."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm... I intend to dispand the Service Club. After you've finished, I'm shall take the key back to Hiratsuka-sensei."

"... You're dispanding it?"

"Yes."

"..."

"What are you thinki-"

"Nothing. But... you have... you have the time for one more request?"

"I... probably wouldn't."

"What do you mean?"

"... If it were not a club member making the request, I would see no reason to respond."

"I'm hardly a member anymore."

"No. That is... that is the truth."

"The truth is... the truth is that _is_ my request, Yukinoshita-san."

Their eyes meet.

"I still want to be a club member, Yukinoshita-san."

"..."

"I don't want the Service Club to be dispanded. That is my request."

Yukinoshita takes a step back, but it leads her directly into another gaze. The sun blinds her, so she has to step forward again. Her shadow is resting on the door. She can't hide in it.

"... Hikigaya-kun..."

"Yukinoshita-san?"

"... There is... your request is impossible to grant."

"Why is it impossible?"

"... I... I just told you that it was my intention to dispand the Service Club."

"Shouldn't you have asked its members before making that decision?"

"I... you are not a member anymore, and I- I am the president of the Service Clu-"

"Then you can still choose not to dispand it. You can grant my request."

"... Hikigaya-ku-"

"Yukinoshita-san, I..."

His voice turns hoarse. His head droops. His fist is clenched on the table.

"Yukinoshita-san, I... I don't care anymore. I don't care about anything anymore. I just don't care. I shouldn't care enough to make this request either, but... about the Service Club... I _do_ care. I care about... I care about you. I care about Yuigahama, and I care about the Service Club."

"..."

He tries to meet her gaze but she avoids it. Her fingers are trembling.

"Hikigay-"

"What, Yukinoshita?"

"I... I don't understand."

"What don't you understa-"

"How... how can't you care?"

"..."

"How can you... how can you leave, and... how can you not come to the Service Club for weeks and never once speak to us and... and tell Yuigahama what you told her and... how can you say you care about... about the 'truth' or about the... how can you say this whe-"

"Because of _you,_ Yukinoshita-san."

She draws her hand to her chest. She can feel bullets. She can. She pushes her teeth violently against her lips. She tries to focus on the sunset, not on Hikigaya, not on him.

He stands up. The chair legs screech on the floor like glass over skin.

"I want to care about you, Yukinoshita-san."

"... I-"

"I don't want to care about truth if it means that I can't care about you, Yukinoshita-san."

"..."

He begins to pace. Up and down the length of the table. She stays exactly where she is.

"I cared so much, and I... I thought about it so much. I wrote about it as well. I did all of those things so fucking much. But it didn't change anything, Yukinoshita. Everytime I tried to think about that night, or you or anybody, I just... I just couldn't. I kept on seeing the Service Club-"

"Hikigaya-"

"-and I kept on seeing _us,_ sat in our seats with a sunset like this one. All of three of us together. We didn't have to be answering a request. I'd just... I'd just see _us,_ Yukinoshita-"

"Hikigaya, I can't grant you-"

"-seeing you sat there, looking so beautiful. I can't believe I've nearly told you how beautiful you are, Yukinoshita-san. And I want to care about you. If you could care about me too, I'd make it so you never had to think about the party or Haruno or your parents ever again-"

"-I can't gr- grant your reques-"

"-even though there's so many things that I _still_ think about. Even now. There's so many things that still don't make sense, like what Tobe told me or how Kawasaki ran away or why Yuigahama left the kitchen or why Miura smashed that bottle or why Hayama had to... why he..."

"..."

His pacing has brought him close. Close. Too close. He's only about a foot away from her, staring at her with eyes full of everything, everything but lifelessness. His frame is blocking out the sun from the window and his shadow is stood beside her own.

His words are closer. What he'd said. What he's thought about.

They are closer. Tighter.

"But I don't care anymore."

"..."

"I _can't_ care, if it means that I can't... if we can't have-"

"Hikigaya-kun."

She lifts her head.

Yukinoshita still doesn't know what he looks like. How can someone spend so long watching, looking, thinking, breathing, and still not know the slightest thing about the person who is watching, looking, thinking and breathing in return? He looks neither menacing nor inviting, and he speaks roughly tender, and he breathes like each breath is full of diamonds. He isn't handsome, but he isn't ugly. He just isn't.

Isn't what? Isn't enough?

But she knows what is enough.

She knows precisely what she needs to say.

"Hikigaya-kun... I... I cannot say whether I can grant your request or not."

"..."

"All I can say is that... is that I want to."

"..."

She steps forward, still not quite looking, not quite assured. He's taller than her. Her eyeline almost reaches his collar. She looks at the buttons, at the smooth of his neck, the beginning of his lips.

"If it is at all in my power, then... then I want to care. I want to care about you. I want you, and I want the Service Club."

She doesn't think about it twice. She leans forward, and Yukinoshita and Hikigaya's lips meet. She instigates it. Carefully and with as much grace as she can offer. The slightest of contacts- a breeze blown up by the wings of a bird, taking flight.

Her fingers are itching. A rope is trembling.

Yukinoshita Yukino waits. She waits for him to move too. To move himself closer, and deepen the kiss.

He doesn't move.

She draws away slightly and looks up at his face.

"Hikiga-"

Hikigaya Hachiman's dead fish eyes are no longer wanting. They are no longer lifeless, either.

Instead, they are full of a raging fire. They are full of anger and release.

He looks wild, like a lion released from its cage.

"Got you," he hisses.

"..."

She steps back.

"Hi... Hikigay-"

"You can't hide from me anymore, Yukinoshita. I know it was Yuigahama."

"..."

His voice is being cut to ribbons, exploding on the air, ragged with an anger coming from every part of his body. The gritted teeth. The burnt eyes. The shake in his hands.

"It was Yuigahama. I know I'm right. She killed him."

"..."

She doesn't move, barely breathing, barely thinking.

 _How... how can he..._

Her expression is all that he needs. Something else begins to explode on his face. A grin. The grin of a teenager whose been told their homework has been cancelled.

"I... knew it. I knew it. I knew I was right. A- and I am. I'm right. I was fucking _right._ "

He turns the grin on her, wildly, and she feels nothing inside.

"I fucking knew it. You can't lie to me anymore. No one can. I was fucking right."

Suddenly, he has to steady his hands. Wild. Grinning. _Ecstatic._

"You know, I thought you would play along, Yukinoshita. I really thought you would. I wouldn't have planned it like that otherwise, but... I... I didn't think you'd go _that_ far to protect her. You'd pretend to care about me, just for her? Ebina was right. People really _will_ do anything for friendship."

"..."

"Although maybe I should've just expected it. It's not like you've hesitated to lie since the party. Or not tell the truth, or however you'd prefer it. You're not very good at it though, are you? You make it easy. It was impossible to grant my request, but as soon as I mention Yuigahama leaving the kitchen. As soon as I mention it, you change your mind-"

"I..."

"What's the excuse now? That something's are better left forgotten? That I'm a cruel person? That was what Yuigahama told me."

"... I... I think you need to leave."

Her voice is a whisper, and its empty and weightless. She can't see him anymore. The boy sat across from her in a Service Club chair, as their latest hour together ambled to a close. All she sees is something huge and terrifying, standing far above her.

"And why should I do that, Yukinoshita?"

"..."

"Please don't tell me you're scared of the tru-"

She chokes. Something wet burns at the edge of her eyelids.

"J- just, just go."

"No."

She spins around herself, towards the door, away from him. But fingers like vices clamp onto her arm. He pulls her back, back into the clubroom, pushes her over to the table until he's standing between her and the door. She feels like her veins are about to crack.

"Please, jus- just stop-"

"No. _You_ stop."

"..."

"You have no right to tell me to do _anything_ -"

"I- I'll-"

"What? Will will you do? Tell Hiratsuka-sensei? Tell Haruno? I don't care Yukinoshita. You could lie to everybody all over again and I wouldn't care. All I want is for you to listen to me."

"..."

"I'm going to tell you everything. Everything that happened that night, and _why_ it fucking happened and you're going to listen because it's the fucking truth, and there's nothing anyone can do to change that."

"... I don't unders-"

"I was fucking right, Yukinoshita! What don't you understand about that?"

"I-"

"Shut up _._ "

"..."

Hikigaya doesn't move closer. He just stands there, watching her, expression distorted. A radio that's lost its tuning.

"You were arranged to be married to him, weren't you?"

"..."

"I... I should've guessed. Not about the engagement, but that you'd told Yuigahama. You were always... always close. I always thought you looked more at home around her than with anyone else. I... she probably realised something was wrong. Maybe she had to force it out of you. It doesn't matter. It just matters that she knew."

"..."

"And Miura wouldn't have had to tell about how Hayama was treating her. She'd known he was stringing her along, like any other student with an ounce of fucking common sense. And then on the night of Miura's birthday party, when there's so much that could already go wrong, she finds out that your drink is going to be spiked."

"... Wh-"

"You didn't know that, did you? Miura was planning to spike your drink. Nothing malicious, of course. Just a little fucking joke. But obviously, they argue about it. And even after she's dissuaded her, they both just forget to clear away the drink. You didn't know about that either, did you? Her first big mistake. Y'know who ends up taking that drink? Who ends up being virtually blind for the rest of the night?"

She realises.

"K- Kawa-"

"Yes. And she has a part to play herself. That you _do_ know."

He breathes out.

"They start drinking after that. I... was so stupid, Yukinoshita. Not to take that into account. They were all drunk. I was so obsessed with who was lying that it never once occured to me that these people just didn't know. Or... or that they might be telling the truth.

"He arrives soon after. Hayama, with all of his friends. And Yuigahama has already been drinking. No one is really looking. They're out in the back garden, or somewhere else or not paying attention, and suddenly, she sees a chance to tell Hayama what she's been thinking for a long time. Ebina was wrong about that. It wasn't Miura who confronted him in the downstairs bathroom."

For the last part, he seems to forget Yukinoshita is in the room at all.

"Hayama's words... _'I'm sorry. I was going to say eventually'_. That could've been an answer to both of you. You and Miura. But they make her angry. Perhaps she can see he isn't really sorry. That he has no intention of changing things for either of her friends. He just wants everything to stay the same- and when his parents force his life to change, Sobu High will be long gone. And that makes her angry-"

"You don't know, Hikigaya-kun."

"... What-"

"You don't know what she was feeling. Even if you... you think you know everything else, you... you don't kno-"

"I don't care about what she was feeling. I care about what she did. What _you_ did."

"..."

"... The party only really begins after that. When all of the guests have arrived. We all drink and concern ourselves with how we look and how everyone else looks, and Yuigahama has more time to be angry about Hayama, and Miura has more time to indulge her stupid dream of a romantic comedy. I honestly don't think I've ever met a person more transparent than Miura Yumiko. For awhile, I really thought she might've done it. What do you think about that, Yukinoshita? I don't know about her feelings, after all.

"Playing spin in the bottle... have you ever wondered what might've happened if Miura hadn't insisted on that game? That was when things went wrong, wasn't I? You all got hit with a bit of reality. Forgetting there wasn't a chance Hayama would feel the same can't be easy when he's about to kiss someone else. I'm sure you were forgetting about him too. And Yuigahama can see it. Her two friends, not forgetting. And if I'm right, you already know who picked up the glass. Just after the bottle was smashed."

"..."

"Are you really not going to say anything?"

"..."

"... It was Kawasaki. I know it was. In the confusion, she was the one fell down to the floor, a- and she picked it up. Probably not even thinking about it. She _couldn't_ have been thinking at that point, from what she'd drank. And yeah, I took her upstairs. I was the one who took her upstairs with that fucking glass and just left her in Miura's bedroom. I didn't even see she was holding it, or how, but... but that's the only time it could've got upstairs.

"And this... this was what confused me for so long, Yukinoshita. This is why I realised it was Yuigahama."

He moves closer to her again. Her legs are already pressed up against the table, as far as she can get away from him, the feeling of cold on her skin.

"Of all the people at the party... of all the people who I thought would be important, it was _Tobe_ that actually changed things. It never clicked with me. On the night of the party, I remembered him telling me something... that it was so dark in the back garden that no one could've been seen out there. Not from the kitchen, or any window in the housem, and he was right. But when I spoke to him, Yamato and Ooka, on the way back from the cafe, they told me that they'd seen Hayama outside. That he'd needed to be alone, and that they'd seen him outside when tidying up the rest of the glass. And I just _assumed_. I was outside in the front drive at that time, so it could only have been the back garden that they meant."

Hikigaya scrunches his eyes shut, as if in pain.

"But even that isn't possible. It isn't possible that they could've seen him in the back garden because of the light, and it isn't possible that they could've seen someone on the front drive, because it was _me_ who was on the front drive. But they're only either telling the truth or lying. Not just mistaken. They have to be one of the two."

They flicker open.

"They _did_ see someone. Of that I have no doubt, Yukinoshita. But Miura... Miura was another person I just didn't fucking _listen_ to. Just when I was leaving her house, when I thought I hadn't learnt anything, I stopped paying attention. She saw me walking away from the house, and the porchlights... they blinded her. She couldn't see me properly, but in that kind of light, I was just a silhouette. A silhouette of a boy with long hair and a shadow stretching to the back of the drive. And she said it. She _told_ me. That because the porch lights were so bright, I looked exactly like Hayama. Tobe, Ooka and Yamato... they _did_ see someone, in the front drive. But it wasn't Hayama. They saw _me_ , and assumed that it was _him_."

He clicks his fingers.

"And just like that, it all makes sense. Miura and Ebina weren't lying to me either. They told me that they thought it was you who was in the back garden, and it was. You didn't need to tell me that. I figured it out. And Hayama... after the game of spin the bottle. He was already upstairs. Waiting for that piece of glass without knowing that he was waiting.

"You can tell me the rest from then on, can't you Yukinoshita."

She's hardly noticed, but her teeth have been locked into her bottom lip. She can taste something metallic in her mouth.

"You're still not going to say it? What happened?"

"..."

"... Yuigahama... she left the kitchen between 9:45 and 10 past. Ebina did too, bu- but it was _her_ that meant something. She leaves the kitchen to get something to dry Miura's eyes. Perhaps she starts going towards the downstairs bathroom, but then, she hears something. A commotion upstairs, that Ebina also heard. But she? She decides to go upstairs and chec-"

"Please, do... don-"

"Please don't say it? Was that what you were going to say? Why not?"

"..."

"I... I'll probably never know what _exactly_ happened after she'd gone upstairs. But I know that you do. Exactly. I can... I can only guess, but... I think that what... that Kawasaki had stumbled across the landing. To the bathroom. Hayama is upstairs, maybe in the spare bedroom. Maybe he doesn't realise at first, but once he hears her, he goes to the bathroom too. She's still holding the piece of glass, and can barely stand, and... so he goes to help her. Or tries... tries to... and... and what does Yuigahama see, when she gets upstairs? She sees Hayama, the person who in that moment she hates more than anyone, and he's got his hands all over a girl who can't stand up, and she's... she's drunk. She doesn't truly realise what's going on. She misinterprets, and she runs over to them, and she's pushing them away or together or... and... and they _do_ come together. Kawasaki, while she's holding the glass, and Hayama. I.. it goes straight into his...

"And now... now somebody's lying on the floor. A boy she can almost recognise, but... but different somehow. Deep red around the edges. And Kawasaki is still holding the glass which had... and suddenly, her half blurred and cloudy mind is clearer than it's ever been before. Wouldn't it be so much easier if if this... if this person who's hurt a- and hurting so much would just... just disappear? Just disappear and never... never come back again? And so... she works quietly. She takes the glass and she drags it across his wrists. She uses the towels to clear up, and she washes the glass and her... her hands, or... and she takes him into the spare bedroom because people could still use the bathroom, and... and she takes Kawasaki back to Miura's bedroom and lays her down, and... I think that... she puts the glass and the towel she used with the rest of her things so when she picks them up, later that evening, nobo- nobody... nobody will know. And then... she goes back downstairs because she needs to comfort her friend who is crying, and... and now, neither of her friends might hurt so much."

"..."

"I always thought it was strange that nobody once saw Hayama downstairs after the party started again, and... and it was because he was already dead. Everyone went back to drinking and partying without knowing. That there was... that there was a corpse in the room above..."

"..."

"... You saw it all, didn't you? Yukinoshita? From... you saw it, looking through the window from the back garden. You see it all... and you're shocked and afraid and... and you don't know what to say or do. You stand there, looking up through the window and... and nobody else knows about when you come back inside and they're acting normal but this... this is _Yuigahama._ This is your closest friend. This is the one person that you'll lie for. Truly lie for. Not just avoid the truth or walk away... you'll lie for her. And you... you do."

"..."

"But you can't just leave it alone. You can't carry on, because... because he's up there. No one knows it, but you've _seen_ it, and you know that he's bled and he's rotting and you feel like your mind will rot too if you don't at least look. Maybe everything will be fine, and... and he's not really dead and nothing that you saw happened. So at the first opportunity, you run upstairs. You go to both sides of the landing because... because Hayama is to the right a- and Kawasaki is to the right and you need to know they're both alright but... but neither of them are. And neither of them, _nobody_ , will ever be alright again."

"..."

"... And then... it makes sense. The truth. Yukinoshita. The truth is... the truth is what always makes sense... even when it doesn't..."

His voice has ground down to a rasp. A breath, or not a breath at all, just the movement of dust in the sunset.

"... You don't know."

"... Yukinoshita?"

She lifts her head. Her eyes.

It's the only time they've ever looked more lifeless than Hikigaya's.

"You... you don't know any of that. It's... you're just saying nothing. There's no..."

"... I know I can't prove it. The closest I can come to proving is... is is the towel. There aren't any towels in the downstairs bathroom, Yukinoshita. Just the tissues. The only place that you can find towels in the house is the upstairs bathroom, and it was a towel that she came back into the kitchen with. So she must've been upstairs. That's... the only thing I can pro-"

Suddenly, Hikigaya's head snaps backwards. Yukinoshita's hand had flashed forward, tearing at his cheek, and she pushes him away from her, back towards the door of the Service Club and away from her, from the table and the seats where they're supposed to be happy.

He looks at her, not knowing. Not knowing why he can't see the anger which she should be feeling, which she should've pushed him away with, _for_. But her eyes. Her blue eyes. They aren't angry. Still not angry. Just lifeless.

"Then... then what... Hikigaya-kun... why... why are you here if you can't prove..."

Fingers find their way to mark across his cheek.

"I didn't come to... I didn't come to prove that I was right. I _knew_ that it was. I... I needed to make sure, but... but I didn't come here to prove. I came _because_ I was right. Because I... because this is the tru-"

"You keep saying that... truth..."

"..."

"Your truth is..."

She locks her fingers together, pulls them to her chest.

"Your... your truth isn't the truth that I want."

"... The truth isn't what you _want_ to hear-"

"It was better when the truth was a lie."

"..."

"... I can't believe that... I can't believe that I _ever_ cared about you, Hikigaya-kun."

"..."

"Do... do you hear me. I... I hate you."

"..."

"Do you hear me, Hikigaya-kun? I hate you. If the truth is all you care about, then you can have mine."

"... I-"

"What, Hikigaya-kun?"

"I... I never wanted to care about you, Yukinoshita."

"..."

The mark on his cheek feels hotter now. Hotter than when it had been made.

"I'm dispanding the Service Club, Hikigaya-kun."

"I know."

"..."

Yukinoshita turns her back on him, looking straight down at the table. A table that should have three faces looking at her from where she's stood.

"... When will you tell Yuigahama-"

"Please leave."

Hikigaya Hachiman does. After awhile. Both of them are no strangers to silence, be it lonely or lonely together, and that silence persists as the next chunk of the sunset vanishes beneath the horizon, and the next cloud turns blacker in the window.

But he does leave. After awhile.

Yukinoshita Yukino stays.

Yukinoshita Yukino waits.

The key to the clubroom still hasn't budged from where she left it.

* * *

 _I am dispanding the Service Club._

 _I still remember_

 _I remember the Service Club's first ever request. It was Yuigahama Yui's. She requested that we assist her in baking cookies for a boy who had captured her affections._

 _I never asked who the boy was._

 _There are many things that I asked Yuigahama Yui. I asked her many pointless things. I asked pointless questions and I received pointless answers. I asked her for pointless favours that I didn't need to ask for and she didn't deserve to respond to them._

 _That pointlessness disgusts me. It disgusts me, the futility of the time we spent together compared to the possibility, the shadow of the time that we could've spent together, if we were mature enough, or old enough, or good enough. We deserve each other. The Service Club deserves itself. A stupid club deserves stupid members and stupid requests._

 _We are idiots. Yukinoshita Yukino, Yuigahama Yui and Hikigaya Hachiman._

 _I am imagining the time that we could've spent together._

 _Why is the truth different from the could've?_

 _There are so many shadows that could've been the truth. Shadows never look right because people never look right. Why do people never look right? Think right?_

 _I don't want the truth. I want the could've._

 _A Service Club session could've been a perfect hour. We could be having a perfect hour. Yukinoshita Yukino, Yuigahama Yui and Hikigaya Hachiman could be perfect. We could be talking about our feelings. We could say when we wanted something. We could be like that sunset. I like the sunsets that you see out of the clubroom window. This sunset is magnificent. This sunset is a could've. You could see it in an artist's exhibition and it would make sense._

 _You would never find the Service Club in an artist's exhibition._

 _I still remember the first request that the Service Club answered. It was Yuigahama Yui's. She asked whether we could help her bake cookies._

 _I remember lots of things about the Service Club. I should probably know about the Service Club._

 _I don't know anything about the Service Club._


End file.
